


Nightingale in a Golden Cage

by Grotesgi



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harem, Angst, Branding, Cybertron, Deepthroating, Double Penetration, Drug-Induced Sex, Dubious Consent, Face Slapping, Forced Orgasm, Forced Twincest, Gang Rape, Gangbang, Harems, Humiliation, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Coercion, Mindfuck, Mutual Non-Con, Oral Knotting, Oral Sex, Orgy, Other, Purging, Repairs, Sexual Coercion, Size Difference, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:22:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 134,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25637986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grotesgi/pseuds/Grotesgi
Summary: Was it just terrible luck, or by design? Whatever the reason for the mess they're in, the twins think they've stumbled straight into the worst nightmare of them all—and sanity is a finite resource.
Relationships: Megatron/Sideswipe (Transformers), Megatron/Sideswipe/Sunstreaker (Transformers), Megatron/Sunstreaker (Transformers), Sideswipe/Undisclosed Characters, Sunstreaker/Undisclosed Characters
Comments: 36
Kudos: 43





	1. Where It All Went Wrong

**Author's Note:**

> So this fic? Is gonna be messed up. It's also gonna be mostly sex. Fucked up sex. And mindfuck. All the fuck. Just so you know what to expect. Updates are also prone to be erratic and depend entirely on how much time to write I have.
> 
> PLEASE heed the tags every step of the way, and if I ever miss any, a word and I'll add them. In every future chapter I'll also briefly list the fuckery going on in that chapter in the end notes, so you can check those out if you're ever in doubt about the contents of any given chapter.
> 
> We'll start off super tame though, and in this chapter there's only not very detailed, drunken, consensual sex, and an abduction. Enjoy.

“The rules are simple,” Sideswipe grinned at his audience, showing his cards between his claws. “One winning card, two losing cards. I shuffle them, you pick the winning card. Easy money! All you gotta do is point at the right one.”

He laid the cards on the table in front of him, face up, winking at a particularly attractive mech in the crowd watching him. “Whaddya say? Earn yourself a few creds to spend in a nice bar?”

“Sounds easy,” one mech rumbled, and Sideswipe nodded in agreement.

“It is easy. Just gotta watch carefully and you’ll have me parting ways with my money in no time!” His laugh earned a few chuckles from the onlookers. “Kidding aside, I won’t make this easy for you,” he teased the player stepping forward. “This wouldn’t be profitable if I was bad with my cards.”

“I can take you on,” the mech said confidently. “I’ve got a keen optic.”

“And you’ll need that! Five creds says I’ll win.” Sideswipe showed his credit chit for the mech to scan, five credits programmed into it. The mech mirrored him with his own credit chit and Sideswipe prepared the transaction after confirming there were five credits on that card as well. The mech accepted it and placed it on standby, the final recipient to be determined.

Then Sideswipe grinned, ready to play. “Take a look,” he said, tapping the table in front of the winning card. After the mech had nodded at him, Sideswipe flipped the cards over in quick, practiced motions.

Then he shuffled on easy mode, keeping the movement of the cards slow enough that his play partner had honest chances of winning.

Once the cards were properly mixed up, he pulled his servos back. “Time to pick, my good mech.”

Without hesitation, the stranger pointed at the middle card. Sideswipe flipped it over, and lo and behold, it was the winning card. He laughed and the crowd cheered for the other mech. “Ouch~ Five credits to you, then.” He completed the pending transaction in the other mech’s favor. Sideswipe, five credits poorer; the stranger, five credits richer. “Another round? _Ten_ creds says you won’t pick right this time.”

“Deal.” And Sideswipe prepared the transaction, shuffled his cards a little faster than the first time, and had the mech pick again.

“No slag!” he shook his helm with another laugh when the mech picked right again. “You’re gonna turn me into a guttermech at this rate. One more round, _fifteen_ creds. I promise you won’t win this time.”

“Like pit I can’t,” the other grinned at him, showing his credit chit again and initiating the transaction. Sideswipe accepted it and shuffled his cards once more.

But he’d done this since he was a youngling. It wasn’t _profitable_ if he only relied on other mecha’s failing senses, and he couldn’t afford losing. He and Sunstreaker, they needed the credits. 

His player turning him into a guttermech? Couldn’t do that if you were already a guttermech. His audience didn’t need to know that though—didn’t need to know how he’d go hungry if he failed at the game. He kept his finish in a decent state just for this. No one trusted a guttermech. They were always desperate for survival and guaranteed scammers.

Sideswipe though? He was no scammer, for sure not. He looked just like any of them, didn’t he? He shone well enough, he had no undue amount of scratches on him, no unusual grime, no nothing.

He was just your regular entertainer, here to show you a good time.

They didn’t need to know he feigned the cards’ positions mid shuffle right under their optics, his claws quick in the act.

He’d long since trained himself out of any physical reactions when he did that, not even his spark flaring despite the zap of nervousness that always came with the chance, however slim, that someone would pick up on the cheat. Years of practice paid off though, and no one said a thing this time either, just like no one had said anything the whole day. Cybertron’s star was already in its downward arch and he’d call it a day soon.

He had decent winnings in his pocket already, fooled from other tourists—and some locals—that felt like taking their chances with him. Him and Sunstreaker, they wouldn’t go hungry tonight.

Sideswipe only hoped Sunstreaker had made enough for them to upkeep their frames. His own profits weren’t going to be enough to cover that, and they couldn’t afford to look like the lowlifes they were. None of this would work otherwise.

“Alright. Which one?” Sideswipe asked with an easy smile for the third time.

The mech pointed at a card. Sideswipe turned it over.

It was not the winning card.

“Aw, shucks,” he said, his smile turning into an expression of sympathy. The transaction was completed in his favor.

His player shook his helm, but he was smiling, showing no signs that he suspected he’d just gotten cheated on. Good. “Damn your servos are quick when you want them to be,” he joked lightly, and Sideswipe laughed along.

“I’ve been doing this for a while, is all. Say what though, one more time. Five creds. Pick right and you won’t have lost anything. You in?”

The mech considered that for a moment before nodding. “Alright, sounds good to me.”

Sideswipe grinned, initiated the transaction, showed all the cards, flipped them over, shuffled, _swapped,_ and once again the mech picked.

It was not the winning card.

“Damn,” the other sighed, but they were still in relatively good spirits. “Give it one more go, I want my credits back.”

Sideswipe made a show of hesitating, before he nodded cautiously. “Okay, one more game, ten creds. But if you lose this time, gonna be the last one. I don’t wanna clean your pockets.”

“No worries, I’ll win.” His player’s optics were already intense on the cards, determined to pick right this time around and land himself back in his starting point.

Sideswipe didn’t stress the scrutiny. He showed the cards, flipped them around, and repeated the trick.

The mech chose the wrong one.

They both shook their helms in disappointment. “Like I said, I don’t wanna clean your pockets. You’ve lost enough.”

“Fair, I guess. You’re good at this,” the mech shrugged. The final transaction completed and Sideswipe bid the player goodbye.

Then he turned to the rest of his audience. “Anyone else feel more lucky, or you think I’m too good for you all~?” Sideswipe grinned.

The attractive mech he’d noticed earlier stepped forward, and the scam continued.

* * *

Before the last of daylight faded, Sideswipe grabbed his cards and the table he used and deposited them in his subspace. The few mecha that had still been around to watch him got a cheery farewell before Sideswipe headed for the driveway, transformed, and set course towards the energon dispensary. Iacon’s towers rose high up into the clear sky as he drove along the roads weaving around and through them, and above or below each other. Fliers zipped around overhead, following their own marked flight courses between the gleaming towers.

It was called Cybertron’s brightest spark, the city-state of potential, that all others envied. Word was that your fortune and dreams awaited if you saw through the trouble of becoming a permanent resident. Even those that didn’t want to make the move often came around to bask in the city’s _glory,_ providing him with the visitors he needed to continue his games. 

Sideswipe didn’t know how true any of that was. Maybe they treated mecha coming from the outside differently, but he was created here.

And even in the _brightest spark of Cybertron,_ he’d still ended up in the gutters far below the sparkling decks and high towers the tourists saw, scraping by just to earn himself the right to continue onto the next day. Was that by design?

No one had ever shown any care for two abandoned younglings whose commissioners found they couldn’t afford to mentor them after all. They sure hadn’t found their fortune here, just fallen through the cracks of society to end up on the streets with barely a thing to call their own.

But they’d learned to make do. They’d scammed and thieved their way to their current position, each of them a practiced con artist, but Sunstreaker now able to make his portion of their living through honest work.

They wouldn’t have gotten to that point without breaking the law countless times, though.

And it wasn’t enough to get them off the streets. Housing was costly. If they wanted to keep their frames functional and fueled, they couldn’t afford it.

The streets were their home, but that was fine. They’d learned to navigate them and the dangers that came with a life like theirs. Unexplained disappearances, murders, assaults… The enforcers didn’t care enough to dedicate time and resources to seeing to all the plight that guttermecha faced.

As far as most of Iacon was concerned, they didn’t even exist.

But they scraped by and made their life the best they could in their circumstances. Fuel for the night was a good tally on the scoreboard of their life.

He arrived at the dispensary already crowded with others, mostly lower class mecha that weren’t much better off. Those with enough credits to live properly didn’t particularly visit this part of town.

Sideswipe drove next to the walkway and transformed to step off the road, waving a greeting at a few acquaintances he knew from the lower levels—the gutters. A few friendly words were exchanged while they waited in the queues, some laughter, jokes.

The kind of things that lighted a hard life just a little bit.

Then it was his turn and Sideswipe paid for two medium ratios, just enough for their frames, a little larger in size than the average Iaconian.

Mid transaction he glanced over his shoulder at the sound of someone shouting his name.

Uppercut. His optics brightened with delight and Sideswipe subspaced his freshly acquired cubes before jogging over to the mech waving for his attention.

“What’s up, mech?” he asked as soon as they were in greeting range, their servos clanging together. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“I’ve been busy,” his fellow guttermech said coyly, and Sideswipe could just imagine _what_ Uppercut had been busy with. 

He laughed. “Yeah? And do you have something to show for it?”

“I do, actually,” Uppercut continued, and Sideswipe looked at his friend with more interest. He recognized that tone. The _fun times_ tone. Uppercut leaned in conspiratorially, like he was about to pass a big secret. “I’ve got creeeeeds.”

Sideswipe knew his next line. “What you gonna use them for?”

“Well, now that I ran into you, I figure we can crash a bar and get wasted. My treat.”

“That much?” Sideswipe asked, more than a little in awe. His optics were probably as impressed and surprised as his tone. Uppercut snickered at him.

“Told you I’ve been busy.” Well, apparently hard work paid off sometimes.

He knew the story though. _Credits_ , but not enough to change your life.

Not enough to get you off the streets.

So why not spend it on something fun instead?

The more fortunate probably would’ve just told them to _save up_ , because _surely_ they would eventually have enough to climb from the gutters. And maybe that was true if you could get more than what you immediately needed to spend for basic survival, like Uppercut had.

It was never that simple though, never _just_ about the credits. You needed a job to keep whatever level of comfort you managed to gain, and if your income was even a little unsteady…

Uppercut had had a good run recently, but there was no guarantee that would last and that he wouldn’t just lose everything all over again, if he tried to reach higher.

“You in?” 

Stupid question. Sideswipe grinned. “Pit _yeah.”_

* * *

They drove to even lower levels to hit up a bar as cheap as they could find. The shiny, well lit, clean streets turned into dim lights, grime, and oil stains, cracks and dents, lined with mecha that made their homes in the creaky abandoned buildings and dark alleyways.

This was their world, the place where all the _trash_ from the upper decks fell.

Drunken mecha were being loud outside of the bar they’d chosen as their target, probably kicked out for having gotten too rambunctious. Dangerous, but dammit they wanted those drinks.

So the both transformed next to the walkway, right next to the drunken group, and tried to ignore them.

They still got a few proposals and gropes, but that was it before they’d already slipped through the doorway and into the bar that was no brighter on the inside than the streets were on the outside. Nor any cleaner.

“So how’s your brother doing?” Uppercut asked as they sat down at the long bar and ordered their drinks. Sideswipe chose cheap because there was no way he wanted to waste Uppercut’s credits; Uppercut went for something a little better now that he could afford it, for once. 

“Sunny’s good. Still runs his thing at the park. Locals are starting to recognize him. A few times the tourists’ve said he was recommended to them even, imagine that!”

“Nice,” Uppercut said, as impressed as Sideswipe had been when his friend had practically waved his credits in his face.

“Yeah,” Sideswipe grinned at him, then shrugged. “Maybe we can afford a little more maintenance at some point, if he gets more popular and can raise his prices.” A little extra for some personal care sure sounded nice. Uppercut nodded in agreement.

“Yeah, the first thing I did was get some oil into my joints and replace some of my fluids that were running low. Still had some left over, so.” He raised the drink the barkeep handed to him before taking a long swig.

“Thanks for bringing me along,” Sideswipe said, sipping his own drink. Crappy quality like everything here, but it was high grade. He wasn’t going to say no to a good buzz every now and then.

“Sure thing. You’ve helped me out when you’ve had extra. Just wanna return the favor.”

“Eh, wouldn’t have been necessary.”

“Maybe, but I _wanted_ to, so you’ll just have to live with it.”

Sideswipe just laughed at that and kept drinking. The conversation flowed as smoothly as it ever did between the two of them, and he had to admit he had kind of missed the mech when he’d dallied off to Primus knew where. There’d never even been a guarantee he’d return, but that was a possibility you just had to live with when making friends here.

He was relieved that Uppercut had indeed returned, and once the charge in his systems started to rise… That started to show a little more. Jokes turned more lewd until they were outright flirting, and then paying for a private room at the back for an hour or two, and before he knew it, he was already pinning Uppercut to the dirty berth that was stained with who knew how many other mecha’s liaisons. His friend was moaning as they kissed and groped, and Sideswipe didn’t exactly keep quiet either.

Especially not when his spike finally found its way to Uppercut’s valve, wet and hot. The calipers clenched around his length as he started to rock in and out, increasing his pace when Uppercut’s legs wrapped around his waist. Charge crackled through their systems, high grade in effect as much as their arousal, lighting the gaps of their plating with blue.

They both liked it a little rough, so when Sideswipe leaned down and bit hard on Uppercut’s neck cabling, all he got was a moan and dull claws digging into his seams with little bursts of pain from his sensors. He drove into his friend, chasing after his high just as much as he was pushing the other higher right along with him.

They’d done this enough times that it was familiar by now.

Uppercut came first, crying out his name as his frame stiffened and his overload crackled over him. The uneven clenching of his valve drew a strangled groan from Sideswipe before he tipped over too, releasing his transfluid deep into Uppercut’s valve.

He didn’t quite collapse over the other mech in the aftermath, but it was a close thing. His arms shook as he kept himself propped up, their fans whirring and vents heaving as they tried to dispel the heat from their systems.

Uppercut’s optics opened after a delay, and when they did, Sideswipe grinned down at him. “Again?”

“Again.”

Sideswipe’s spike sprang right back into pressurization when Uppercut rippled his valve around it.

* * *

Three rounds later they both stumbled out of the private room, then the entire bar, giggling and giddy from the afterglow of good overloads and the high grade in their systems. A kiss of goodbye later they parted ways, _driving_ because who gave a damn about laws and safety, Uppercut most likely headed to continue working, and Sideswipe making his way through the streets to a different destination.

The area around the bar was a hotspot for activity, but some streets later things quieted down. There were still mecha around, but they were ones that had built their shelters here, little nooks and crannies they claimed as their own and defended ferociously.

The twins were no different, and Sideswipe stopped in front of one particular alley. His transformation felt a little wonky, high grade still cruising around his fuel lines, and his… Step wasn’t completely even, was it? He was pretty sure the buildings weren’t about to collapse no matter how his vision tried to convince him otherwise.

Sunstreaker was sitting on the mat they called their berth, doodling around on his sketchbook. He glanced up when Sideswipe got closer, raising one stately optical ridge at him. “Had fun?”

Stupid question, he already knew the answer. Sideswipe nodded anyway, collapsing next to his brother and peeking at what he was drawing.

More cityscapes. He was getting really good with those. “Made enough today?”

“Yeah,” the golden twin confirmed. Good. That meant they could hit one of the public washracks in the morning, before heading back to the upper levels for the day.

Reminded of that, Sideswipe pulled the cubes he’d bought from his subspace, offering one to Sunstreaker. He set aside his sketchbook and accepted it, and the both of them fueled in silence—and quickly, lest someone get the idea of trying to take their fuel from them.

He felt a little bad that Sunstreaker hadn’t gotten to come along to their bar night, but he also knew Sunstreaker didn’t really like getting drunk, so it worked out in the end. The low grade he’d been able to afford would be enough to fill his tanks comfortably.

It took him a while because wow the high grade was really making his processors fire in all sorts of funny ways, but eventually Sideswipe could focus enough to… _Feel._

The disquiet. 

He really had to have been distracted to miss that. Now he couldn’t rid himself of it.

“Something’s bothering you,” he said, poking Sunstreaker on his arm.

His brother frowned, staring at his worn claws. It took him a while to say anything.

He did speak up eventually, though. “I’ve had this… Feeling, all day.”

* * *

It started in the morning, almost as soon as he and Sideswipe had left the public washracks they’d cleaned themselves up in and parted ways to hit different parts of the city that rose all around them. He felt… _Watched._

And Sunstreaker had lived on the streets long enough to trust his gut when it said something was wrong. Ignoring your instincts was one of the best ways to get yourself killed—or raped or mugged, if you were lucky.

So he didn’t take the routes he normally would have, weaving instead through the streets he knew so well to more lively areas, until the feeling went away. Even then he didn’t take the straightest way to the park plaza he’d made his spot. It was a hot spot for tourists, exactly what he needed, and when he arrived, a little later than he usually did…

The feeling didn’t come back.

Sunstreaker sighed in relief as he transformed and walked to the shady little area he had made sure he could be found in every day. Word of him and his skills was spreading around slowly but steadily, but if he wanted those potential clients to reach him, he needed to be present.

He set up shop in short order, pulling out his foldable seat and the sign that presented his services and prices, as well as a few example pieces of what he could make, and placed them on the ground like he always did.

Then he sat down. Sideswipe was prone to calling for more “customers” quite loudly, but Sunstreaker had never fancied doing that. Personally he just found it _grating._ So, as usual, Sunstreaker merely pulled out his sketchbook, entertaining himself with practice and people watching as the activity on the plaza slowly increased. He got looks, his display got looks, and Sunstreaker caught optics and smiled to put on a _friendly face_ and avoid driving off any potential clients by being a grump, as Sideswipe called him.

It wasn’t that long into the morning before he got his first customer. “Hi. Is this your work?” one of the mechs in the group of three asked as they got closer.

Sunstreaker smiled in greeting. “It is. A few credits and I can create something custom just for you.”

The mechs exchanged glances, then some words. About how his prices were fair, his works gorgeous, and how they could watch the entire process to make sure they weren’t being ripped off.

There was no need for concerns like that with him. Sideswipe, on the other hand… Well, a bit of caution was always well founded when in an unfamiliar city.

Or even when the city was familiar. Because the feeling creeped back to him. He had to suppress a twitch and a suspicious look around while he waited on the mecha, but his sensors swept wide, scanning the area as far as they reached.

They reported nothing out of place, but the feeling would not go away.

He hid his tension when the trio turned their attention back to him. 

“I’d love to get a work from you.”

“Me too.”

“Easily done,” Sunstreaker promised and pulled two canvases from his subspace. “Payment upfront and I’ll get started at once. I’ll need a few minutes.”

Their optics were brightening in excitement over the concept of getting this kind of memorabilia from their trip, and both were quick to pay him. Sunstreaker nodded his thanks before grabbing his pens and brushes and setting to work. He’d done this enough times that he was perfectly capable of being quick about it without lowering the quality of his work, and in relatively short order the patient pair were handed their finished pieces.

Both started squealing over them instantly, and this time Sunstreaker’s smile was honest, just a little bit of delight flaring in his spark. Sideswipe was poking at it instantly, but Sunstreaker ignored him in favor of thanking his first clients of the day. They thanked him profusely in turn before walking off with their new possessions.

It was always nice to be appreciated.

Not every customer he ever got was like that, but it was just a matter of staying firm even when they demanded refunds—likely not even because they were honestly unhappy with his work, but because they just wanted it for free.

Sunstreaker didn’t let himself be cowed, though. The plaza was always buzzing with activity and patrolled regularly by enforcers. It made it a safe location for a bit of lawful work, and even if someone would’ve tried something… They would’ve been the ones to get in trouble for it, not him. There was nothing illegal about what he did.

But all the while. _All the while_ the feeling wouldn’t leave him. He smiled and kept his frame loose, inviting, polished as well as he could manage to make him blend in with all these mecha that _didn’t_ live in the gutters, but he felt he wasn’t blending in _well enough._ Like someone was paying attention just to him specifically.

He couldn’t get paranoid and start looking around in earnest though. He had a _facade_ to keep up, but now it felt like shackles around his wrists, binding him dangerously. 

There weren’t as many customers that day as he would have hoped, but there were enough. They could get by with relatively little, and Sideswipe brought in his own share of credits as well. They’d be fine until tomorrow.

When it was already turning well into the evening, Sunstreaker finished his last customer’s work before he began to pack up, his plating crawling all the while. It was driving him crazy, but now he could look around more freely, and did so as he gathered his things and organized them back into his subspace.

There were mecha walking about, alone or in small groups, going who knew where to do who knew what. Nothing was out of ordinary about it.

None of them were looking his way.

There were mecha sitting on some of the benches as well, alone or with company, again. Some were clearly partners, snuggling into each other, all lovey-dovey. Sunstreaker snorted at them, but still there was no one who stood out to him. No one even remotely appeared like they were or had been looking at him.

What was amiss? He couldn’t rid himself of the feeling and it put him on edge well beyond comfort, but even as he cast his optics around him for a wider view of his surroundings… There was nothing he could see out of place.

Was he losing his mind here, or was there really a danger he couldn’t pinpoint?

It could be the former, his imagination just playing tricks on him, but Sunstreaker acted like it was the latter. He hadn’t survived this long only to die because he got careless. 

He headed for the nearest stretch of road and took the short way to the closest highway, merging into the constant traffic of the larger roads, and again took a long, winding route through too many needless curves and sudden turns.

The feeling would not abandon him.

And he couldn’t drive around all night hoping he could ditch it sooner or later. He and Sideswipe couldn’t afford to waste fuel like that.

For that reason he eventually had to give and head towards the alley they had claimed for themselves.

But he didn’t go there. Instead he stopped a street away and entered one of the abandoned buildings with a knock on the perpetually open doorway, scanning the area for spark signatures.

One came up. “Lossless? Mind if I hang around until Sideswipe gets back?”

Lossless peeked his helm from the next room and waved in greeting. “Hey Sunstreaker. Sure thing, come on in.”

Sunstreaker took the invitation and walked in, and… The feeling receded. Oh, he was still a tense bundle of nerves, but it was an improvement, and he was downright relieved when he sat on one of the dirty couches Lossless and his company had scavenged from who knew where. It made his plating crawl for entirely different reasons, but sooner or later he couldn’t have helped it anyway.

There was no staying clean for long down there, not when you practically slept on the ground. They hit the washracks every damn morning for a reason.

“So where’s Sideswipe?” Lossless asked, reclining on another couch.

“Drinking, from the looks of things,” Sunstreaker shrugged, relaxing on the sofa to the best of his ability. 

“Wow, really? Did you get lucky with creds?”

“Not us, but one of his friends did.”

“That’s a nice treat. I wouldn’t mind if I had enough money on me to do the same.”

“Who would mind?”

“Don’t think I know anyone who would,” Lossless grinned at him, and Sunstreaker’s mouth twitched in something akin to a smile too. “How has your work been going, by the way?”

“I think I’m gaining some reputation.”

Lossless’ cadre slowly trickled in from wherever they had spent the day—stealing, scheming, scamming, if he knew them at all. They were pretty serious about parting better off mecha with their credits by any non-violent means necessary. He and Sideswipe had used many of the same tricks when they had been younger—one working as the distraction while the other handled the stealing.

But where they’d eventually moved on from that to some less risky methods, Lossless’ cadre had continued. They were good at what they did, and equally good at leaving the scene if something went wrong.

He and Sideswipe had run with them a few times, but as much as they admired the cadre, they had never felt the draw to join it.

At the end of the day it was just the two of them—one spark in two frames.

Conversation flowed around him easily, laughter echoing in the room as the cadre pooled the day’s resources, had their energon and counted their funds. He enjoyed the atmosphere as always, soaking it in well into the night. They didn’t kick him out despite how long it took Sideswipe, but as soon as Sunstreaker could feel him closer, he thanked them for having him and left their building to a chorus of goodbyes.

He had hoped that _the feeling_ or the reason for it would have died off during his visit in the cadre’s housing, but he wasn’t even halfway to their alley before it came back.

He was getting ready to lose it at that point, but he had no target, because no matter how he scanned his surroundings with his sensors, he couldn’t find _anything_ to explain the sensation of being watched. 

Aggravated, Sunstreaker transformed outside their alley and marched into the gloom, his engine growling as he sat down on their mattress with more force than necessary. There were only two ways to even go, and he still couldn’t see anyone!

He pulled out his sketchbook and tried desperately to distract himself until he could hear Sideswipe’s engine closing in, and then his brother was already staggering into the alley. Sunstreaker raised an optical ridge at him. “Had fun?”

Drunk or not, Sideswipe still drank his energon with him, but it took him a while before he managed to push through his overcharged haze and pay attention to Sunstreaker’s unease. He was poked in the arm, and usually Sunstreaker would have reminded Sideswipe not so kindly to _watch the finish, it was already hard enough to upkeep,_ but not this time. Instead his optics dropped down to his own claws, dull from overuse and poor maintenance.

They didn’t really have the funds to replace the metal to have something to sharpen into an actual edge again.

“I’ve had this… Feeling, all day,” he spoke up eventually, glancing at Sideswipe. His brother’s optics gained more focus as the severity of Sunstreaker’s inexplicable anxiety slowly worked its way through the high grade in his systems. “Like someone’s _watching_ me. But I haven’t seen anyone or anything.”

Sideswipe thought about that for a moment, then glanced around himself. “I mean… I don’t feel anything, but then again I’m drunk as fuck so that would probably explain it.” Anything but dismissal, Sideswipe instead frowned at his inability to trust his own presently addled instincts. “What do you think we should do? One stays up as a watcher?”

“I think that’d be safest,” Sunstreaker agreed. It happened every once in a while that things just got too dangerous for the both of them to recharge at the same time. There was a good reason most of them tried to band together with at least one friend who they could trust to watch their back and vice versa. You never knew what might strike if you were alone.

“I’ll take the first shift, you need to sleep that high grade off,” he continued. Sideswipe nodded at him, not really disagreeing.

“Yeah, I probably should. Ugh. Well, better get started.”

Sunstreaker could feel Sideswipe’s unhappiness with his current overcharge, but there wasn’t really anything but time to take care of that. Sunstreaker scooted to the side enough to give Sideswipe room to lay down, and his brother was down and out within seconds.

Sunstreaker snorted despite himself even as he picked his sketchbook back up and continued working in the light of his optics. His sensors he threw far and wide, on constant lookout for anything out of place.

As the night crawled on… The feeling started to pass. He still couldn’t figure out what had caused it in the first place, but slowly his mind started suggesting that he had just overreacted to some small thing that had been amiss without him making conscious note of it. Which seemed like a pretty likely answer to things.

He glanced down at Sideswipe, his brother’s engine rumbling peacefully and lulling Sunstreaker further into the new explanation for his jumpiness. It had probably been nothing all along.

But should he nevertheless wake Sideswipe to take watch for the rest of the night? That had been the deal and he knew Sideswipe would be upset in the morning if he found out Sunstreaker never had woken him.

Was it necessary, though? It was always better to get a full night’s recharge. Sunstreaker wouldn’t get that at this point no matter what, but he could still grant it to his twin.

There was the scuff of a pede against the ground at the end of the alley.

Sunstreaker’s optics snapped up at once to the image of a mech’s silhouette against the dim light of the quiet street.

Quiet and still and in the _dead of night_ when mostly everyone, even those who liked to stay up late, would be in recharge. A quick scan came up with no spark signature.

Either he was looking at a ghost, or someone living was intent on being _bad news._

Not good. “Sideswipe!” Sunstreaker hissed immediately, shaking the red mech’s shoulder until his optics opened. Slower than usual to catch up with things, Sideswipe took a painfully long moment to brush the recharge from his mind.

“What?” he mumbled a little before that process was even over, glancing up at Sunstreaker, then in the direction Sunstreaker was looking at.

Then he froze just as Sunstreaker had.

“Run?”

“Run.”

They got up as one and booked it into the opposite direction, unwilling to find out just what random strangers in the middle of the night would’ve wanted from them.

There were only two ways to go, but the other way wasn’t blocked so that didn’t matter.

Until it did.

One step outside the alley and onto the street and arms shot out to grab Sideswipe, a servo wrapping around his throat with a grip tight enough to silence his vocalizer. Sunstreaker barely had the time to register that much before servos landed on him as well, his throat similarly caught into a crushing grip until he could only spit static.

The third mech appeared from the alleyway just when a _fourth_ one cruised over, but it was only this one that made Sunstreaker’s energon run cold.

The big mech turned into a _van,_ and was currently in his alt-mode. His side door opened as he got closer, revealing a space big enough to hold all five of them.

Sideswipe was struggling, Sunstreaker was struggling, but each of the mechs was a helm taller than they were, and more solidly built. And they acted as if they’d done this before, knowing _just_ how to hold them to keep them from breaking free of their grip, or from screaming.

As humiliating as crying for help would’ve been, sometimes you would’ve needed to do it anyway.

Of course, there was no guarantee that anyone would risk their safety to check what the noise was about.

The van stopped in front of them and they were unceremoniously dragged inside by the mecha both larger and stronger than they were—and they were no weaklings themselves. The third one climbed in with them, and the door closed with a _slam._

Clamps were placed around their throats at once, muffling their vocalizers but freeing the mecha’s servos so they could wrangle them onto the ground on their fronts. Their arms were pulled behind their backs despite their resistance, the larger mechs’ strength just _greater_ than theirs, plain and simple. There their arms were tied together by the wrists. Sunstreaker immediately tested the binds, and felt Sideswipe do the same, but the conclusion they both came was that they were solid. 

Sunstreaker growled as he was manhandled onto his back next, Sideswipe panting hard next to him as the same was done to him. The mechs were speaking, but Sunstreaker couldn’t make sense of the language.

Which was enough of a clue on its own. Their optics were Northern blue, but that was an easy detail to fake. He suspected their original color was _red._

The larger frames that didn’t look like they even came from the Northern hemisphere, the harsh language _…_ Those had _Kaon_ written all over them. 

He hoped he was wrong. He hoped these were locals, that they were merely being taken for some manner of forced labor—industrial workers, miners, _whores,_ there were all kinds of functions mecha were pressed to illegally. But if they stayed in Iacon… They would have a chance of reclaiming their lives.

If they were carted to the other side of Cybertron, to Kaon, how were they ever going to get back?

One of the mechs hooked into the medical port at the back of Sideswipe’s neck, heedless of the static coming from his vocalizer that would’ve been creative cursing and insults without the muting clamp. Sideswipe’s mental defenses were overrode with frightening ease, and they couldn’t even place the _how_ before his brother’s chestplates were already splitting apart.

Sideswipe stilled in horror for one precious second before he bucked up, trying somehow to keep the mecha off of him with another quiet screech of static.

It was a fool’s errand. His spark chamber wasn’t pushed forward, but his internals transformed out of the way to give access to it.

One of the mecha held up a small device for their scrutiny. “This, is an explosive,” he spoke up in standard, getting their attention at once. “I will place it into your chassis. We have the trigger. If you try to run, _boom.”_

Sideswipe’s engine had stalled entirely as dread flooded over the both of them. He had no idea if what the mech said was true, but he wouldn’t have been surprised if it was.

And he wasn’t very willing to call his bluff in fear that it _wasn’t_ a bluff. 

True to his words, the mech placed the device into Sideswipe’s chest, right next to his _spark chamber_ despite Sideswipe’s continuous efforts to somehow prevent it all. Whatever witchcraft the one plugged into his neck was using, it prevented Sideswipe from closing his chestplates to shield himself from the treatment.

And then the device was in place and _now_ Sideswipe’s internals shifted back into place and his chestplates closed tightly with a _clang._

Too late.

His twin was left to heave ventilation after ventilation when they moved their attentions to Sunstreaker instead. He growled at them, engine revving an useless warning that they completely ignored, and plugged into his helm like they’d done to Sideswipe. There was nothing he could do but watch as his coding’s safeguards went simply _ignored_ with whatever the mech did, and then his chestplates were parting too, without any input from him whatsoever.

It was not a pleasant feeling, and it was a very small comfort that his spark wasn’t bared on the same go. A device identical to Sideswipe’s was placed into his chassis before his internals returned back to their rightful places _around it_ and his chestplates closed over it.

Potential explosives in their chassis? That was _not_ on their bucket list.

The van they were in kept moving. With their escape made considerably less safe, the twins went mostly ignored by the three mechs in the hold with them. Their abductors spoke with each other almost nonstop, which didn’t matter one bit because they couldn’t understand a word of what was said.

And they couldn’t get a word in from the squeeze on their vocalizers.

They drove for a small eternity, their internal clocks counting on mercilessly. Now was the time they would have gotten up. Hit the washracks. Showered and polished to the best of their ability to get rid of the dirt they’d have inevitably accumulated. Headed out, Sunstreaker to the plaza, Sideswipe to any of the locations he rotated between.

Instead the van kept moving.

It was impossible to relax, but boredom seeped in despite the nerves making their spark flutter wildly. Sunstreaker stared at the ceiling and tried to build images from the bangs and scratches in it. Sideswipe was passing his optics between their captors, just to have something _living_ to look at. 

Then they slowed, and finally stopped. Sunstreaker tensed all over again and Sideswipe followed suit as the mechs started to move around with more purpose. The side door opened to a flood of light, their optics struggling to adjust as the first of the mechs hopped out. The other two hauled them upright and onto the ground outside.

Which turned out to be an airfield, once they had a look around.

That… Likely meant they were going to get taken to a far off location, if nothing gave.

As if reading their thoughts, one of the mechs tapped Sideswipe’s chestplates. “Remember. Trigger.”

Sideswipe growled at the touch, snapping his denta at the mech, who laughed and said something to his fellows. They laughed too, and Sunstreaker found his own engine growling right along with his brother’s. 

But they weren’t clued in on the joke.

Instead and while completely ignoring their struggles, the trio marched them towards an aerial, in their alt-mode just like the van that never bothered to transform. There were airfield workers near the aerial, but Sunstreaker’s hope that they would be of help died off very quickly when they merely gestured for them to hurry up.

It wasn’t exactly _difficult_ to see they were being taken against their will, was it? But the workers barely glanced at them. 

They were led up the ramp into the aerial’s cargo hold, full of what looked like perfectly legitimate cargo about to get transported to who knew where.

And now the twins were going to be along for the ride to that _who knew where_ location.

They were shoved onto their knees at the very back of the cargo hold, out of sight of anyone who didn’t bother to walk well into the hold. The three mechs stayed with them, leaning against the wall as the aerial lifted off.

Sunstreaker glanced at Sideswipe and Sideswipe glanced at him, anger and fear mixed in his brother’s gaze. Sunstreaker expected he looked little different.

It was… Starting to look more and more likely they were on their way to Kaon specifically. And that was the opposite of _good._ Nothing good was ever said of Kaon. Not that there was much to say about a city-state that refused to interact with the outside word. A dictatorship that held a vice hold of its citizens and didn’t allow anyone _in,_ or anyone _out,_ with very few exceptions… Not a lot of stories escaped that place.

That was all he knew about it, but it was enough to make him desperately unwilling to go there. If they didn’t escape before that… What were their chances of getting out of Kaon afterwards?

And why were they being taken there in the first place, he would really love to know that. It was a long way to transport two lowly Iaconians. Longest way there could be, what with Iacon standing proudly on the Northern pole, and Kaon doing the same on the _Southern_ pole. 

But escape would be difficult if their internals were really going to get blown to smithereens were they to try.

They’d gotten out of many tight situations in their short lifetime, some life threatening, but Sunstreaker wasn’t sure how to turn this particular one around. He’d been held at gunpoint, stabbed with the intent to kill, gotten hit by one very angry truck, had the living daylights beaten out of him for being in the wrong place at the wrong time… But he’d never been told his spark would be blown apart if he made a wrong move.

They needed to get those damn bombs out of their chests, which was easier said than done when their hands were secured at their backs, tightly enough that their twisting did nothing to loosen the bonds.

What about trying to get someone’s attention to alert them to the fact they weren’t going anywhere willingly? But they couldn’t scream, and he would’ve bet on their abductors being prepared for something like that, ready to prevent their chances of it.

He was pretty out of ideas beyond that, as was Sideswipe.

It made him hate the situation quite a bit.

* * *

The aerial flew for a _significant_ amount of time, but having never left Iacon before, having never _flown_ before, Sideswipe had no frame of reference for how far they’d actually traveled. How fast were they even going? And _where?_ Southward, probably, but there were a lot of stops they could hit on the way to… Wherever they were going.

Kaon was their best guess.

He really wished they were wrong about that.

They did eventually land, and the cargo doors opened, and… It was night. The moons were high in the sky, the only things visible from all the light pollution.

They were escorted out first, in a hurry it felt like. Sideswipe wanted to stall, because if their captors were in a hurry that could mean someone they didn’t want around was coming, and that could be their chance to escape–

But they grabbed him by an arm and dragged him along when he tried to dig his pedes in, and he wasn’t big or strong enough to keep them from doing that.

There was another van waiting for them. They were pushed and pulled into it, and the door closed, and they were off along ground all over again.

He had no idea which way was which anymore, his internal positioning system so confused it was no help. Sunstreaker was vibrating with anger, but their spark felt fear next to it. Fear of the whole situation.

Fear of the unknown.

They’d never left Iacon, and they hadn’t exactly been planning to do that either. Where would they have gone? _How_ could they have gone? Travel was expensive, and they could barely afford to take care of themselves.

If they’d ever gotten that much extra… Then yeah, seeing what the rest of Cybertron looked like would’ve been nice.

Now? Iacon was far behind them. The streets, the gutters, all the mecha they knew… So many miles away he couldn’t even count them. Their whole _life_ was so far away.

Under better circumstances Sideswipe would have called this adventure and embraced it with all he was.

Under these circumstances he wanted nothing to do with it.

They drove another small eternity. Sunstreaker managed to kick their captors a few times when they strayed too close to his pedes, but surprisingly, there was no retaliation beyond something they assumed were expletives, spoken in another language. In the end one of them had just sat on Sunstreaker’s legs, putting an end to most of his motion. Sideswipe was already pinned to the floor of the van by another of the mechs, using his aft as a _seat._

He was seething, Sunstreaker was seething, and their spark kept fluttering with fright they didn’t want to admit to.

The sun was back in the sky when they finally stopped and the door was opened. They were dragged out with as little fanfare as any time before. A look around showed a city skyline in the far distance, although he would’ve never been able to tell what city it might’ve been.

In front of them, there was a rotorflier talking with a couple of others, again in the language Sideswipe could only guess was Kaonite. Nothing for them to understand, which was probably according to plan. The mecha had shown they could speak standard too, just… Chose not to.

Which was smart enough. They could talk about whatever they wanted to without having to worry about the twins hearing it. Why give them any edge in the situation, anything they could’ve used to their benefit?

As nonexistent as their chances of actually getting anywhere from the situation were to begin with. If they didn’t have the damn explosives in their chests, then maybe.

It was a possibility they weren’t lying about the whole bomb thing. Sideswipe didn’t want to test it out, because if they weren’t lying?

 _Boom._ Gone.

And he liked living.

The rotorflier seemed to greet the trio leading them along, exchanging a few words before he transformed and they were handed off to the other two mechs. Their original abductors didn’t follow when they were pushed into the helicopter. When they were seated in the heliflier between the two new mechs and they took to air, Sideswipe could just so see the other three returning to the van.

But there were actual windows this time, which was a nice change. They could see the scenery, for all the good that did.

It was a distraction though, because their spark was about filled to bursting with apprehension. Something made Sunstreaker think they were getting close to their final destination, and Sideswipe couldn’t really argue with that.

They’d traveled for a long time already.

Unexpectedly the mech sitting next to Sunstreaker pulled out two cubes from his subspace as soon as their flight had steadied. One was handed past the twins to his comrade, and then… They turned their attentions to the twin sitting closer to them.

Sideswipe tensed immediately.

“Drink up. You’ll need your energy soon enough,” one of the mechs _leered,_ and Sideswipe did not like that tone. He growled despite the _scared_ pulsing of his spark, and Sunstreaker revved next to him equally unhappily.

There was suggestion behind those words that neither of them appreciated, anxiety surging anew where they’d already partially gotten used to the whole gig of getting hauled all over Cybertron. 

They weren’t stupid. They knew a lot about the reasons mechs got taken off the streets, and what the mech was hinting towards…

Sideswipe fervently hoped they were wrong about it, but he had to resign himself to the possibility they were _right_ in their assumptions.

None of that meant he wanted to be freaking _fueled_ by their guards. Sideswipe kept his mouth stubbornly shut even when the mech next to him came to bring the cube closer. “Aw, don’t be like that,” was the disappointed sigh he got for his trouble before the mech started to just… _Touch_ him. “Where’s your secondary intake? Hm? Here? Nope. Here? Ahh, there we go.”

Enough poking around his lower chest and back later he found the cover to his secondary intake from his lower back. He was shoved forward for the mech to have more room to work, and the cover got pried open in short order. Sideswipe hissed through his vents at the sting, but he went ignored as the guard started to sloppily pour the cube into the intake connected straight to his tank. The other didn’t care if half of it went to waste, but Sideswipe still watched his tank’s capacity meter fill up a little, even as much of the energon stained his armor and seeped to his internals through the seams in his plating.

The other guard had managed to pry Sunstreaker’s mouth open, and was with equally little care directing the cube’s contents down his brother’s throat. Sideswipe could feel Sunstreaker’s muted fury at the energon that was soiling his chin and front, but with the tight grip on his jaw holding him in place he didn’t manage to do much about it.

Primus, he wished they’d had their arms in use. Then they could’ve tried to do _something_ at least. His shoulders were aching from being in the same position for so long, but they’d made no move to cut them free at any point.

It would’ve been pretty stupid to do that, but a mech could hope.

Forced fueling aside the trip was as uneventful as everything preceding it. The guards chatted with each other and the rotorflier, but none of it was in standard so he couldn’t do more than let the prattle wash over him. The scenery outside was no more entertaining, just flat fields of metal as far as the eye could see.

He didn’t know enough about Cybertron’s landscapes to confirm their position. Only their guess remained. He didn’t think they’d have to wait for too much longer before they’d find out the answer one way or another.

It turned out he wasn’t wrong about that. Sunstreaker was the first to notice it, his alarm jerking Sideswipe out of his thoughts and into scanning their surroundings again.

The walls that rose in the distance were unmistakable even to street urchins like them.

Kaon. Cybertron’s impregnable fortress, scaled up to the size of an entire city-state. 

They hadn’t been wrong after all.

And that wasn’t a very good thing.

The lowkey fright that had been their constant companion ever since they’d been driven out of their alleyway reared up properly now. No one sane _ever_ wanted to go to Kaon. It was where freedom went to _die_ under a lone ruler running the show with an iron fist.

And now they were being taken into it despite Sideswipe considering them both perfectly sane.

His spark was spinning wilder and wilder the closer those walls got, and Primus but their sheer _size._ The towers within still rose higher than the walls, but that didn’t make them look any smaller.

The heliflier gained altitude just to even get over the walls, and as he did the amount of guns embedded _on_ and _in_ them became apparent.

It was insane. Fragging insane. Sideswipe could see why they called it a fortress, even if before he had thought it a little bit exaggerated.

It wasn’t exaggerated. It wasn’t exaggerated at all.

If the whole place was locked up as tight as the walls suggested, how were they ever going to get the pit _out_ of there?

The rotorflier flew over the walls, with the guns at the top of it aimed at him all the while. It was freaking nerve wracking. What did he know, maybe they’d get shot down for whatever reason these mecha saw fit to shoot others down, and then the explosives in their chests wouldn’t much matter anymore.

But they didn’t get shot at at all, and just kept flying.

And kept flying.

And kept flying.

They wove between the towers to what Sideswipe guessed was towards the city’s center. The towers… They were so different from Iacon. They didn’t shine. They didn’t look like polished silver.

These towers were matte and dark, almost black. They were thicker, wider, and looked just as durable as the walls did.

It was like the whole city was built to handle a full blown bombing effort. He wondered if it _had_ been bombed at some point, and how that had gone. None of the history files he’d ever integrated said anything about something like that happening, but he knew how lacking their education was.

They kept going long enough that his marvel of the city and everything he was seeing started to die out. He entertained himself by watching the other fliers passing them by. They were different from Iaconian fliers too. These were on average larger, with only a few smaller, defter aerial thrown in there.

And some were total behemoths. You’d only really seen them in the industrial sections of Iacon, but here they seemed to be flying all over the place.

The highways far below were darker in color too, but otherwise the way they ran between and through the towers was familiar enough. 

The whole city was so… _Bleak,_ right down to the cloudy sky blocking out direct sunlight.

When the rotorflier started to slow down and lower itself, Sideswipe started to wish they’d kept going for a while longer. For like, so much longer they flew straight out of the city on the other side. That would’ve worked for him really well. 

Instead they were apparently coming to their destination. Sunstreaker straightened and tensed next to him, and Sideswipe copied him when he could feel them touch down on the landing pad of the particular tower. Their transport’s rotors slowly died down, and then the door was opening again.

Two burly mechs in identical dark paint jobs were already waiting on the other side. The twins were pushed out of the flier by their existing guards, words were exchanged around them, and once again they changed hands. The big mecha took a hold of each of them by the arm, and then it was back to being dragged to some unknown destination.

They entered the tower through large doors that led to a wide, long hallway. They were led along it, through several turns, one elevator ride, then more turns, until Sideswipe was hopelessly lost and Sunstreaker faring no better.

But finally they stopped in front of _yet another_ set of doors. A green and purple mech was already there waiting for them, looking grumpy. Which was a nice enough contrast to the stoic guards that had been hauling them along.

The new mech plugged into their necks as they came to him, and this time they were legit medic’s overrides that opened their chestplates. The explosives—if they really were that—were plucked out of their chests and their chassis closed back up, then the clamps constricting their vocalizers were removed, and before they had the time to even react to that, their arms were freed.

No restraints. No muters. No could be bombs.

Free, _except for the fact_ they were deep in one of Kaon’s towers with no idea which way the exit even would’ve been at.

They didn’t have enough time to do so much as share a glance between them before the doors were opened and they were _shoved_ through them, stumbling into a room full of mecha large and larger.

More than a dozen optics snapped to them as soon as they entered, and Sideswipe felt his spark shrink at the emotion he could recognize in them.

_Lust._


	2. Descent to Depravity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND IT BEGINS. The utter degeneracy, that is.
> 
> Jump to the end notes if you want to check what manner of debauchery you'd be reading. If you don't want those spoilers, I can only direct you to the fic tags and to please take heed of them. I put them there for a reason.
> 
> And there are several minor pairings in this chapter that I didn't bother to tag because they'll most likely never show up again. You can also find those listed at the end notes of the fic.
> 
> Other than that, have fun.

Sunstreaker had never seen anything quite like it. The room was beyond spacious, decked up in warm colors that washed away any chill it might’ve otherwise had. Poles, thin enough for him to have wrapped his arms around, rose up from floor to ceiling at steady intervals, although he in all of his _lack of knowledge about architecture_ didn’t think they looked strong enough to actually support the ceiling.

What were they there for, instead?

At the center of the room there were several tables grouped together in a rectangle with an empty center, clearly intended for mecha larger than him and Sideswipe.

They had no chairs around them, though. Instead, a little ways away from the tables, there were large pillows and thick mattresses strewn about the floors, surrounding the tables completely.

But as much as the surroundings caught his attention, they didn’t _keep_ it.

Because the room was occupied by _several_ mecha, almost all of them larger than they were, almost all of them with red optics. They were standing along the walls or reclined on the pillows and mattresses. There were drinks and conversation–

But it all halted when they were shoved in through the doors that closed decisively right behind them. There was music coming from somewhere, and for a second it was the only sound in the room.

Then… Engines began to rev, and one particularly sizable mech in brown-grey and black spread his arms and said something in Kaonite. They didn’t understand a word, but something made it seem like a greeting.

The other mecha in the room laughed.

Sunstreaker growled in warning, but a few of the mechs closer to them began to approach them regardless. Sideswipe shrank away, back against the door, and Sunstreaker only barely kept himself from doing the same.

But he managed to push through the fright and trepidation in their spark and stood his ground.

The mechs made a grab for them when they got close enough, but both him and Sideswipe dodged out of the way in their respective directions. It only got them more laughter and _more_ mecha stalked their way until there were no more ways to go that didn’t have waiting arms ready to catch them. 

Sunstreaker’s face pulled into an ugly snarl and Sideswipe’s engine was growling with fear and anger as they pressed against each other in the center of a circle of hungry mecha. The big one that had spoken up earlier said something, and another equally massive mech that looked like they turned into a tank of some sort also spoke up.

The mecha around them made noises of disappointment right before the circle closed on them entirely and harsh servos clamped on their plating.

“Get your fragging servos off of me!” Sunstreaker growled at once and Sideswipe cursed the lot of them next to him.

They just _laughed_ and dragged them to the center of the room, past the mattresses, all the way to the tables. The two big mechs came closer as the brothers were shoved against the tables onto their fronts—and then all of the smaller mecha moved away.

Before they could beat it the hell out of there now that there were no hands holding them, the two brutes had already closed in.

Sunstreaker was forced back against the tabletop by the tank, and the other big mech did the same to Sideswipe, bringing one of his brother’s arms behind his back for good measure.

Then he _bent_ that arm until joints were stressed, and even past that point until pain multiplied in Sideswipe’s frame and he cried out.

Much to the amusement of everyone else in the room, from the sounds of things. 

Sunstreaker counted himself lucky that he was only pressed against the table by his neck, held there by a grip applying enough pressure he _knew_ he’d never be able to push himself free of it under his own power.

He tried anyway. “Let go of me, you fragging scrapyard reject!”

His struggles didn’t get him anything more than an amused rumble. The mech holding Sideswipe outright laughed, although Sunstreaker wasn’t sure if that was aimed at him or his brother. Sideswipe had stilled, venting hard under the pain in his straining arm.

They both knew where this was going. There wasn’t any uncertainty about it even before Sunstreaker felt a servo slipping to his aft, slapping it with a clang of metal that made him jolt, then venturing further. A growl rose in his throat. “Hands _off.”_

He went completely unheard. Thick claws dug into the small seams of his valve cover, pushed in, and ripped it clean off. Sunstreaker grunted, but _refused_ to give anyone the satisfaction of hearing him scream.

Sideswipe did release a muffled yell when the same was done to him despite Sideswipe’s own words of refusal. The onlookers laughed once more and the mech holding his twin _purred—_ at Sideswipe’s sounds, at his pain, at his helplessness, Sunstreaker wasn’t sure which. Or maybe all of them. 

There were two clicks of an interface panel retracting, one directly behind him, another off to the side. Sideswipe’s engine stalled for a moment before he bucked, ignoring the pain in his arm in a desperate bid for a _miracle_ that would see him free. “NO! Don’t you fragging– Keep that _thing_ away from me! _Stop!”_

Sunstreaker fought against the hold on him too, loud and clear in _not consenting..._ But neither had any success beyond _amusing_ the mecha around them.

Then the tip of something massive pressed against Sideswipe’s dry valve entrance, _slowly_ forcing its way in. Sideswipe’s whine gained in volume as the spike pushed in deeper, scraping against every sensor, stretching the mesh and spreading the calipers around it to a combined effect that was nothing but _agony._ His brother _wailed_ towards the end of the long and arduous moments his assailant took to sheathe his spike in the frame far too small for it. “Get the slag off of him!” Sunstreaker raged, fighting against the hold on him, but no one reacted to it with anything more than _amusement._

As much as every Cybertronian was built with size difference in mind considering the vast size range of their species, there were physical limits to everything.

And Sideswipe’s limits were pushed, and pushed _past._ His frame could accommodate the length of the spike inching into him, but not the width. His hips might have spread at the seams designed for the very purpose, but just as quickly they were spread _too far_ until there was nothing but pain left. His valve was filled past capacity, the walls trying and failing to fit the spike stretching him—and forced to do so anyway. 

Sunstreaker didn’t know what to say beyond yelling at them to stop it—didn’t know what to do except _feel_ every excruciating second right along with his brother.

Around them the mecha were chatting, leering, pointing and laughing, calling out over the general noise, just… _Enjoying_ themselves.

Sideswipe was sobbing by the time the mech had seated his entire spike into his brother, his groin flush with Sideswipe’s aft. 

As soon as that was true, he was already pulling back and Sideswipe cried out all over again at the rough scrape of a too large intrusion against desert dry walls. If they weren’t built so sturdy, Sunstreaker was sure Sideswipe’s entire valve would’ve gotten ripped straight out.

He didn’t know how much better this was. The mech shoved himself back in after he’d pulled himself all the way out and Sideswipe didn’t manage to stay silent as he was split open all over again, his thrashing frame only adding to the pain via the arm pressed to his back at an unnatural angle.

“This one’s a screamer,” the mech raping his twin laughed in standard as he set up a punishing pace that definitely drew a lot of noise from Sideswipe.

But it was overwhelming. Sideswipe was no stranger to rough interfacing, but this went so far beyond that.

This was just... _Madness._ Sunstreaker could barely think straight from the pain and distress flooding their spark, and Sideswipe was doing much worse. The torrent almost distracted him from the words the two mechs were exchanging.

 _Almost._ “Why don’t you try that one?” The tone of the mech abusing his brother was nothing short of lecherous, and Sunstreaker barely had the chance to feel a burst of alarm before the tank behind him _shoved in_ and rammed his spike all the way into his valve in one violent thrust. His hips clanged against Sunstreaker’s aft even as his back arched off the table, or _tried to,_ despite the grip holding him down.

Conscious thought was overridden for a moment by the desperate need to get away, to escape the explosion of _pain_ in his groin and up his frame. Static filled his vision when the mech drew back without even a second’s pause, only to repeat the whole process and drive him into a land of anguish. 

But he didn’t make a sound. His vocalizer seemed to have forgotten how to function.

“Ah, he’s a quiet one,” he could hear through his pained delirium, and all of a sudden he really wished the mecha had continued speaking Kaonite. He didn’t need to hear any of this.

“I like those better,” the mech assaulting his frame rumbled. “It makes it more rewarding when they finally do scream.”

Primus, neither of them had ever hurt this much, and definitely not this intimately. Sideswipe was only spitting static at this point as he was driven into time and time again, his walls chafing raw, sensors abused past their ability to perceive _anything_ as pleasure.

Sunstreaker grit his denta as he was given the same treatment, but he would _not_ give them the satisfaction of screaming. The way his engine hitched and revved unevenly was bad enough, giving some voice to the agony raging in his lower frame. But even through that he could see the other mecha in the room, stroking their spikes while watching them hungrily.

And he suspected he knew what they were waiting and preparing for. 

He would’ve probably felt fear at the thought, if he had been able to push feelings past the hurt overcoming their spark from both sides. He was pretty sure both of their afts were going to dent from the way the two mechs chased their pleasure with no need for their comfort—or maybe in an attempt to make this as _bad_ for them as they could.

Sunstreaker had to give it to them, they were doing a good job of that. Not that it was difficult when they were already too big for them to take.

They lasted longer than he would’ve ever believed them to, too. It was like they were already so used to doing things like this they knew how to draw it out, and maybe they _were_ used to it—maybe he and Sideswipe were far from the only ones dragged here for the lot of them to use them as their playthings.

How many of their predecessors had walked out of here alive?

But eventually there was a burst of warmth in the depths of his valve, registering as nothing but searing _hurt_ against his abraded sensors. His frame was shivering when the tank pulled out and released him, and Sunstreaker tried to get up the _instant_ he was no longer pinned down.

He got far enough to turn around, just in time for another mech to approach him—barely a helm shorter than the previous one.

Sunstreaker didn’t want him anywhere near him anymore than he’d wanted the last one. Reflexes kicked in, literally, and he kicked with both pedes at the mech once he came within range. The mech—another tank—stumbled a step back from the force of his double kick, though given their size difference it was probably only because he hadn’t been expecting it.

His first rapist laughed. “Careful, Brawl. This one’s feisty.”

Sunstreaker bared his denta at the both of them, growling hard.

“I’ll frag that out of him yet,” Brawl threatened with a snarl of his own, stepping forward again. This time he was prepared for Sunstreaker’s kick and kept coming in spite of it, proving at once that his strength really was no match. His legs were grabbed and spread, a spike was bared, and then he was impaled all over again before he’d had the time to do more than dig his claws into the seams on the larger mech’s chestplates.

It didn’t hurt any less this time, and his processors swam too badly from the simple pain of it for him to put up a proper fight when his wrists were grabbed, his arms pulled above his helm and slammed against the table until he was laying supine across its surface.

And then he was in perfect display for the mech, _Brawl,_ to frag him at a pace that rivaled the previous mech’s.

He was somewhat distracted from his own frame’s suffering by the splash of transfluid into Sideswipe’s valve, burning him just as it had burned Sunstreaker. The mech with his attention on Sideswipe pulled out, and there was a brief moment of _relief_ before dread took over—for a good reason, it turned out. Sideswipe wasn’t released even for a moment as Sunstreaker had been, but instead turned around until it was his helm facing the spike that had just finished battering him.

“Lick it clean.” 

Sunstreaker’s engine revved harder in unison with Sideswipe’s staticky but furious words. “Lick it yourself!”

There was laughter across the room, and someone piped up with, “You really think that’s gonna work, Motormaster? You’re just gonna get bitten!”

Motormaster growled, a sound that was pure aggression and nothing else. “Let’s do it your way, then.” He grabbed Sideswipe by the helm and _slammed_ it against the table, his helmet barely even withstanding the force of the impact. He groaned weakly, but Sunstreaker could still feel the fight in him even as his focus was partially torn from Sideswipe by a particularly hard thrust into his own frame.

Force of will kept his vocalizer silent even as every slam of hips against his turned more painful with Brawl’s nearing overload. 

When he’d managed to push that aside enough to concentrate on his brother again, Motormaster had already gotten his mouth open, Sideswipe’s daze too deep for him to have prevented that. But he was still ways from giving up, and as soon as Motormaster’s spike was directed into his open mouth, Sideswipe bit down on it.

As hard as he could manage.

And this time it wasn’t Sideswipe that made sound. Motormaster roared in fury even as the mecha in the room laughed in a chorus to that one mech’s, “I told you so!”

But Sideswipe was the one that paid the price. It wasn’t just _one_ time his helm was slammed against the table after Motormaster had removed his spike from the proven dangerous mouth.

No, Motormaster repeated the motion again, and again, and _again,_ until someone yelled, “Don’t beat him unconscious! That’s no fun!”

Motormaster did find the restraint to stop at that, but he’d already gotten what he wanted. Sideswipe was mostly out of it and couldn’t resist this time when Motormaster opened his mouth and thrust in.

 _All_ the way in. Sideswipe’s throat stretched far and wide when the massive spike forced its way into it, and Sunstreaker was very relieved Sideswipe wasn’t alert enough to fully appreciate the feeling of it. The only upside to this was that there was actual lubricant in his mouth where there had been none on his valve, but that did nothing to the fact _throats weren’t designed for fragging._ There was nothing in place to aid the tubing and the calipers to adjust to the massive girth that had suddenly been forced down Sideswipe’s intake.

On the next draw out a pained moan managed to work its way from Sideswipe’s vocalizer despite the snail pace of his thoughts. “That’s right! Show ‘em who’s boss!” someone yelled from the rowdy crowd and Sunstreaker bucked up beneath Brawl’s frame, in some effort to… He wasn’t sure what.

“Get the frag away from him!”

Some effort to help his brother, but he had no idea how he would have done that. They were outnumbered and outmatched, at the _nonexistent_ mercy of these mecha.

And as if Sideswipe wasn’t already going through enough, another mech—although this one blessedly a grounder in their own size class—hopped onto the table and went behind him. Sideswipe’s legs were grabbed and spread to give the grounder room between them.

“Aft up, you little whore,” he grinned before grabbing Sideswipe by the hips and hauling his lower body higher.

He had to keep it there himself, because as much as Sideswipe tried to fight to regain his senses, he was still hopelessly far from having full control over his frame.

“I’m getting ideas here,” yet another mech spoke up, drawing Sunstreaker’s attention back to his own frame. He glanced towards the voice at a rotorflier that climbed over the tables to the empty space in the middle of them. 

And headed for Sunstreaker. 

“Give him here.”

“Frag off, Vortex,” Brawl growled, but all the same Vortex came over and snatched Sunstreaker’s arms from Brawl’s hold, tugging him to the other side of the table until his helm fell over the edge.

It did remove Brawl’s spike from his valve, and Sunstreaker closed his legs as soon as he could. The tank made a noise of aggravation but didn’t bother climbing up to the table.

Someone else _did_ bother, but he couldn’t see them from the rotorflier grabbing his helm.

It freed one of his arms though, and he instantly dug his claws into the nearest gap of plating.

Vortex _moaned._ “I _love it_ when they fight.”

“You fragging masochist,” the mech at his lower end snorted, a second before his legs were grabbed and pulled apart no matter how hard he tried to keep them closed. He suspected with a great deal of trepidation that it was once again someone considerably larger than him, and that was confirmed without any excess delay when another spike far too big for him entered his body.

He bit back the groan that wanted to rise from his vocalizer, intent on denying them his voice. His servo fell to try to push Vortex away instead, not that he really expected that to work. Although not as large as some of the others, Vortex was still considerably larger than him.

Almost everyone was.

The rotorflier’s sharpened claws dug into Sunstreaker’s faceplates, but he kept his mouth stubbornly closed for all the good it did. Vortex had already admitted he liked his resistance, but Sunstreaker couldn’t bring himself to just give in, no matter how much it might’ve denied the other some of his pleasure.

Whoever it was between his legs wasn’t moving near as fast as the previous two. Nothing could erase the constant, tearing pain of having his frame pushed past its limits, but the slower pace was at least… Not quite as bad. It was no reprieve and he had to fight himself with every thrust to keep his vocalizer silent, but it could be even worse.

Somehow that thought wasn’t a particularly big comfort.

Claws pushed into his mouth past his lips and dug into the gaps between his tightly clenched denta as a distraction from what was happening to his valve, eventually prying his mouth open despite the strength of his biting jaws. A spike was slipped past his parted lips in short order, and taking a cue from Sideswipe, Sunstreaker bit it as soon as he could.

But instead of rewarding anger, he got another moan—and maybe the other mech hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d called Vortex a masochist.

Pits, how did you even fight a mech that _enjoyed_ it when you fought? He could give him pleasure by resisting, or he could give him pleasure by letting him use his frame.

It was a win-win for the rotorflier, and a lose-lose for Sunstreaker.

The spike was shoved deeper despite the scrape of his denta and Sunstreaker gagged hard when it hit the back of his throat. He’d never let anyone push that deep the sparse times he’d even agreed to give someone oral, never having liked the feeling of it.

Now there was no _agreeing_ to anything. His denta clamped down tighter, Vortex moaned louder, and the spike was thrust deeper no matter what he did. It slipped down his throat and his gag reflex went _haywire_ in an instant, pushing out the contents of his tanks with no further warning and no fanfare.

Raucous laughter echoed in the room when what energon he’d had in his tanks pushed past his stretched lips, splattering across Vortex’s groin and legs, and dripping down Sunstreaker’s face.

“That was fast,” the rotorflier commented, not sounding particularly displeased over the mess. Sunstreaker felt nothing more than _disgust_ though, and wanted to wipe even some of it off his face—but when he tried, his arm was caught and pinned to the table.

The mech at his valve increased his pace for a final few thrusts before he felt more transfluid paint his valve walls, diverting his mind for a precious second.

Then Vortex started to _move_ and his attention was snapped right back to his upper end. Sunstreaker’s thoughts scattered to the four winds as his helm was grabbed with two servos and the rotorflier began to use his mouth like he wasn’t a living thing at all. He tried to buck, but someone else was already positioning themselves between his legs, pinning him in place and grabbing his momentarily freed arms before he could put them to use.

The need to get _away_ was overwhelming under the assault on his mouth—harsh, jarring thrusts, violent withdraws, his throat forced open with every push in until the tubing felt bruised and his calipers stopped resisting.

It wasn’t often that his fight or flight instinct was triggered. Now it was all he could think about. He didn’t know where to focus, on his mouth or on his valve, the two points he was rocked between when the mechs _used_ him with no coordination between them. “You hate this, don’t you?” Vortex panted at him, a damned _grin_ in his voice.

The answer would have been a resounding _yes,_ were he in the position or mood to answer.

* * *

Pain, pain, and more pain. That was all Sideswipe knew at this point. His valve—surprisingly, that wasn’t hurting terribly much. Someone was fragging him, _hard,_ but from the feel of things they were someone he would’ve even, you know, _agreed to berth_ under better circumstances. His valve was beyond sore from Motormaster’s treatment and the worn walls and sensors didn’t appreciate any manner of intrusion, but at least his specs weren’t pushed.

 _Down there._ His mouth was an entirely different matter.

His helm throbbed from the times Motormaster had seen fit to slam it against the surprisingly unforgiving table, but even that was _nothing_ compared to what his throat was going through.

He was getting a good taste of the larger grounder’s sheer _cruelty._ Motormaster moved fast and hard like a mech possessed, completely disregarding the fact he was pushing Sideswipe’s frame past capacity. His faceplates were drawn tight over the girth of the massive spike, but that he could’ve handled.

He couldn’t handle the relentless assault on his intake, getting worse and worse the more of his faculties he managed to gather. It made him think that _maybe_ he didn’t want to be conscious after all.

But then he wouldn’t know what they’d do to his frame.

Then he wouldn’t be there for Sunstreaker.

As little as he was being there for Sunstreaker right now. He couldn’t even focus on what was happening to Sunstreaker, not when Motormaster shoved his massive spike down his throat over and over. Tears streamed down his face. “Ha, look at the little bitch cry! Aw, what’s the matter? Never had it that big before?” someone cackled.

The tubing of his intake was beyond raw at this point, despite the oral lubricant trying to pave the way. His calipers ached. He couldn’t keep himself from gagging every few push in, his frame tensing in painful waves. Warnings about minor tears and unnatural stretching were blinking on his HUD, as if he could’ve done anything about that.

It hurt. He wanted it to stop, and that feeling kept growing as the torture continued on and his senses returned to him. He tried to pull away as soon as he could, but Motormaster _growled_ and held his helm tight. “Don’t go anywhere, you little slut. This is what you’re here for, better _deliver.”_

 _Or else?_ What could be worse than this?

So he struggled all the same, trying to jerk his hips away from the spike drilling into his valve, only for claws to dig tighter into his plating. “Hey! Stay still, whore.” His aft was slapped. He jerked.

But there wasn’t much beyond that that he could try to do. Motormaster had caught both of his arms and held them at the small of his back with no notable effort no matter how Sideswipe tried to twist free.

And he kept fragging his mouth, no doubt intent on punishing him for his _insolence._

_This is what you’re here for._

Two wet holes as receptacles for their spikes and spunk? Was that it?

He didn’t want to be that, but with Motormaster at his helm, he didn’t really have any options. Maybe he could’ve struggled more against someone else, but Primus, the mech was big and strong and knew just how to _hurt._ His spike kept on ramming down his throat, and as much as Sideswipe would’ve wanted to bite again, his jaw felt numb from the treatment.

Wholly uncooperative, abused beyond its limits.

“Ugh, you really loosened the bitch up,” the mech pumping his valve grunted, slapping his aft again. Sideswipe could barely focus on it past the pain of his intake, but he put in the effort to make out the words. “Wildrider! Come help me out.”

...Wait.

Wait wait wait.

Sideswipe tried to _wrench_ away at the idea, the _possibility_ that his addled mind presented him with. Motormaster held his grip, though, and released his arms enough to strike the side of his helm, dazing him all over again. “What did I just tell you?!”

 _Don’t go anywhere,_ yeah yeah, he remembered.

Frag him if he was just going to do as he was told!

...That was exactly what was happening wasn’t it.

He did manage to disturb the mech using his valve, which was a small victory. And extremely short lived, because before he knew it, a third mech was climbing onto the table. “Get beneath him,” the mech behind him said, and Sideswipe thought his idea of where this was headed was becoming more and more likely. 

And he wanted nothing to do with it, _loosened valve_ or not.

But Motormaster kept a hold of his helm, kept being one painful distraction, and he couldn’t think of enough things to do to escape the situation. He tried to push the new mech away when they got closer, but Motormaster caught his arms again, lifting his frame by them to give Wildrider the room to slip beneath him.

It strained his shoulders. It hurt.

So did his throat.

And Motormaster kept on thrusting like he was going to last _forever._

Wildrider wiggled his way under his frame, a mech about the same size as he was. Sideswipe could feel his spike brushing his abdomen, and he again tried to jerk even just his _lower frame_ away—but the one with their spike buried in his valve had his claws hooked into the gaps of his armor and rode out his struggles. He was made to straddle Wildrider’s thighs as the fellow grounder settled.

Motormaster jerked hard against his face, pulling Sideswipe’s thoughts back to the abuse his mouth was being put through. He ground against his face, pushing his hips forward and pulling Sideswipe’s helm against his pelvis hard enough that Sideswipe wasn’t sure he wasn’t going to get crushed like this.

Then he could feel searing bursts of transfluid down his throat too, and he couldn’t keep his frame from acting anymore. He gagged, except this time the motion ran through the whole way, forcing the contents of his tank back up—washing the transfluid from his throat on the same go, at least.

He wasn’t sure if his regurgitation would’ve even made it past the unforgiving stretch Motormaster’s spike was, but he pulled out just then until only his spike tip remained in his mouth, allowing his puke to follow him out. “Aw, he didn’t swallow,” someone off to the side said in disappointment.

Motormaster wasn’t as disappointed. “That’s it, you bitch,” he growled instead, releasing his hold on his helm as the mix of transfluid and energon came out to taint his groin and Sideswipe’s face. He reached down and smeared it further on his face, rubbing the humiliation deeper into his struts.

Then a second spike pushed its way into his valve and Sideswipe jerked forward despite himself, driving Motormaster’s spike back down his throat, and regretting the motion instantaneously when his frame heaved _again._ Not that there was much to bring back up anymore.

The room burst out into laughter. “He likes you, Motormaster!”

“That’s a good whore, throat him again!”

And the second spike squeezed into his valve. He could feel the vibrations of Motormaster’s amusement.

They’d said his valve was looser now, but it didn’t feel like that was true at all. Sideswipe sobbed as he was stretched wide all over again and the two mechs began to thrust in unison, not any more cautious than what he had expected them to be. It didn’t hurt that much less than Motormaster, not when their angles of entry hit different parts of his valve, jabbing in horribly.

But Motormaster pulled out, slapping his face on the withdrawal before he turned and walked away like nothing major had happened.

Like he hadn’t just raped him on both ends. 

But there was nothing holding him in place now except the grip on his hips, and neither mech currently abusing his valve was any larger than he was. This time when Sideswipe yanked forward, he was able to pull away from their hold, dislodging the spikes from his valve and scrambling off the table to sounds of indignation from the two mechs.

Everyone else was either laughing or whistling, not looking that perturbed that he’d escaped them.

Temporarily. Which way was out? How could he have even gotten there? There were mecha all around him; there was barely a gap that wasn’t in someone’s grabbing distance.

He headed for one of those anyway, dashing between two mecha that didn’t look like they were that ready to catch him.

Surprisingly, he got past them and into the room beyond, only to stumble and turn partially around at the sound of one familiar cry.

Sunstreaker never screamed.

But as soon as he focused back on his twin, _pain_ assaulted him and knocked him onto his knees. His vision swam from the amount of it, sending his thoughts into utter disorganization.

Primus, what the pit were they doing to him?

No, not _them._

Just _one_ mech. 

The rotorflier had his spike down Sunstreaker’s throat— _Sunstreaker hated giving oral_ —and his claws buried in the gaps of Sunstreaker’s armor.

Not… Not just claws. A prod of some sort too. Or was it a knife?

Whatever it was, the mech was expertly using it to hit sensors they didn’t even know they’d had, sending current through them hard enough that there was no way in a million years it could’ve registered as pleasure.

“Be careful with that thing, Vortex!” he could hear over the noise in the rest of the room. “ _I_ don’t want to get shocked.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll watch it.”

Another deep thrust, down his throat, up his valve, stab of sharp claws against sensitive components, armor plates bent out of alignment, _another burst of current._ Sunstreaker’s scream was a hoarse thing as his frame jerked in a desperate attempt to escape the torture inflicted on it.

It was no good.

“Hah, twins are the best! Look at this wench. Vortex, keep hurting that bitch!” Servos grabbed him and Sideswipe was pulled back into his own frame as he was unceremoniously hauled upright, then _thrown_ onto one of the mattresses covering the floor and providing seating for the mecha present. He sprawled onto it.

“Someone keep him down, we want to have a turn,” he heard someone say, turning his helm to watch two little mechs approach him.

Symbiotes.

Too small to hold him down themselves.

Sideswipe got back to his pedes as quickly as his frame allowed him to despite the bursts of pain in his groin, and made another run for it. It didn’t look like anyone had expected him to get that far that fast, and he managed to slip from the circle of mecha all over again. 

The only question was _where to_ from there. There were several doors leading to locations unknown, but they were all closed, and he had no idea which were locked to top.

And… He couldn’t really leave Sunstreaker, could he?

His spark was pulsing in his chassis, fear and hurt mixing with _powerlessness._ He didn’t know which way was out, and even if he had, he couldn’t have left without Sunstreaker.

He was so stuck.

And there were mecha all around the room, watching him with amusement even as some of their comrades started to approach him.

_What could he do?_

Trying not to get raped again would be a good start.

Even if he was pretty sure that was an effort doomed to fail.

Sideswipe endeavored to stay one step ahead of them, dodging around the room and trying hard to ignore Sunstreaker’s muffled sounds of pain he tried to bite back—Sideswipe could _feel_ him trying to bite them back, but failing anyway as Vortex flat out tortured him. 

And the rotorflier was getting off on it too, his thrusts into Sunstreaker’s mouth turning more and more arrhythmic.

If Sideswipe thought about any of that, he wouldn’t he able to stay out of the reach of the servos making grabs at him–

But he was already thinking about it.

Three mechs cornered him against one wall, blocking his escape routes and just taking a hold of him. He was dragged back to the mattresses and showed into his front on one of them. Sideswipe managed to get his arms under himself, but someone grabbed his wrists and yanked them forward, above his helm, and he faceplanted into the mattress anyway.

Two other mechs caught a leg each, pinning him securely against the mattress.

And the symbiotes closed in again. “ _Finally._ You’re a slippery one, aren’t you,” one of them cackled as they came up behind him, little digits pushing into his valve.

He grunted at the discomfort, but it wasn’t outright pain–

Up until one of them shoved an entire arm up there. Raw sensors lighted up with pain all over again and he tried to pull his hips away with an agonized whine, but the arm just followed him, and he wasn’t allowed enough movement to do anything more than that between the three mechs holding him down.

“Bro, I think we gotta do this together,” the one with their _arm_ in his valve said. Sideswipe could hear the grin in his voice. “He’s all stretched up already. Basic slut, they never stay tight for long.”

“What you gonna do!” the other symbiote, the first one’s brother, intoned.

Neither sounded very displeased.

Sideswipe’s only comfort was the thought they were far smaller than the mecha that had already taken their turns with him. This probably wouldn’t hurt as much.

He hoped, anyway.

“Bring the other bitch here!” someone said, and Sideswipe spared a thought to Sunstreaker. His brother was venting heavily, lightly bleeding past his armor from where Vortex had damaged fuel and coolant lines, but the rotorflier had wandered off by now.

One spike shoved up his valve, then a second, as the symbiotes seated themselves and started fragging him. They had a rhythm about them that made Sideswipe think they were pretty used to fragging mecha together.

It burned, it hurt, but he could bear it.

Sunstreaker was hauled up from the table and shoved towards the mattresses. A moment later he fell next to Sideswipe, aching all over, his throat and valve the greatest points of pain but far from the only ones now. His optics were clearing out though, now that Vortex was done inflicting more damage on him. 

“My turn,” came a hiss somewhere behind them, and when they both turned to look, another symbiote was stalking towards them. This one was a felinoid, walking silently on all fours.

Sunstreaker expected him to aim for his valve, but instead he walked up to his front, and the twin’s spark sank all over again. Maybe it had been too much to hope they’d leave his mouth alone.

Someone else _did_ take the gaping hole between his legs as an invitation though, and hiked his hips higher only to push in. They were big, but not the biggest he’d taken so far. He still moaned in pain, his valve protesting the intrusion and his stubborn silence long shattered. His arms were caught and pulled back, forcing his chest against the mattress.

“He’s just going to bite you,” someone laughed as the felinoid parked in front of him. 

Sunstreaker snarled at him.

The cat snarled right back.

Sunstreaker snarled louder. “You get that spike anywhere near me and you’ll lose it.”

_Primus, his valve still burned despite the transfluid being spread around–_

The symbiote scoffed. “Empty threats. You’re in no position to resist.”

He wasn’t wrong, but that didn’t mean Sunstreaker wasn’t going to fragging well _try._

He revved a warning when a mech crouched next him, jerking his helm away when they tried to grab it. That earned him a harsh slap on his cheek and his helm was taken a hold of despite himself. A digit pushed into his mouth in short order, lifting his helm upward and forcing his denta apart far enough that the felinoid could rear up, place his front paws on Sunstreaker’s back, and shove his pelvis forward, the spike pushing into his open mouth smoothly.

The intrusion was smaller than any of the spikes he’d taken before that, but that didn’t make him hate it any less.

“He’s gonna bite any second now,” someone guessed.

And that was exactly what Sunstreaker did.

Or tried to, but the mech with their digit in his mouth only wedged it further back, forcing his mouth to stay open. “We’ll see about that,” he smirked, and Sunstreaker glared at him.

The felinoid began to frag his mouth now that there was no danger of injury on his spike, just as the bipedal symbiotes fragged Sideswipe, just as the mech behind him fragged Sunstreaker. None of it was hurting as much as some of the slag they’d already been put through, but that was a despairing thought.

Raped and abused, and the best they could hope for was it’d hurt a _little less_ than it _could?_

_Where was the end to this? Where was their escape?_

None of the symbiotes lasted long, though Sunstreaker got the impression that was just because they weren’t even trying to. The bipedal ones with Sideswipe finished first, releasing dual loads of transfluid into his valve before they pulled and slapped their servos together in satisfaction.

Sideswipe was panting, trying to close his legs, but he was held too thoroughly for that to work.

“I don’t want to get down. Someone bring him back to the tables,” a mech out of their field of view said, and in short order Sideswipe was dragged to his pedes by his neck.

But what had they called Sideswipe before? _Slippery?_ His brother managed to tear himself free and staggered away from the mecha trying to grab him, his engine growling as he bolted away from everyone.

There were sounds of amusement all around the room as Sideswipe went back to his game of evasion with their abusers.

Sunstreaker couldn’t focus on it after the symbiote at his mouth started to overload.

 _Started to,_ because it didn’t look like it was the short process to him that it was to most others. He humped against Sunstreaker’s face until he could feel the first burst of transfluid down his throat.

And while it just kept coming, far more worrisome was the way the felinoid’s spike started to _expand._ Sunstreaker thought he imagined it at first, but once his faceplates started to sting from the stretch, he couldn’t deny it.

A knot. The fragger had a modified spike.

And it got to be absolutely massive in comparison to what the spike had been before swelling. It jammed behind his denta, and his faceplates simply didn’t allow him to open his mouth far enough for him to even try to pull off of it. It locked them together in the most humiliating way possible, and all the while transfluid streamed down his intake. The mech at his valve came too, but that barely registered past the desperation of getting away from the spike in his mouth—partway down his throat.

It was no good though, absolutely no good. He could tug all he wanted, but it only earned him irritable growling and a servo at the back of his helm, pushing him against the felinoid’s groin.

There was a mech at his valve again, and he could recognize the voice. “Your brother was pretty good. How about I try you out too? Sluts like you just love big mecha like me, don’t you?” 

Motormaster.

Sunstreaker screamed around the spike stuffing his mouth when he was split open all over again on the mech’s fragging spike–

And Sideswipe’s voice joined his as his brother was penetrated from both ends elsewhere in their torture chamber.

* * *

His valve throbbed, and not in the good way.

Sideswipe struggled to swallow through the aching in his throat, staring up at the ceiling and trying so hard to ignore the talk and laughter around him.

Laughter. The bastards were seriously _laughing_ while raping the wits out of them.

And Sideswipe was honestly coming to his wit’s end. There was no end to the spikes they’d shove up his valve or down his throat. He wasn’t sure how long this had lasted already, or how much longer it would last still.

How much he’d endured already, and how much more he would still need to endure.

If there even _would_ be an end to it. What did he know, maybe they’d keep raping them until they died from it. He felt like he was on the long road to that destination, at least. They’d hit and beat him enough times that he felt more than a little dinged. His throat was raw, stretched past capacity by spikes far too large for him. His jaw ached. He couldn’t get the taste of transfluid off his glossa. His valve burned from being penetrated time and time again without there ever being enough lubricant for even the first one.

At least all the transfluid had started to ease the way after a while. It was seeping out of him now, where he lay spread on one of the tables, unable to quite scrounge up the will to move. It was no use anyway. No matter which way he moved, they’d just manhandle him into the position they wanted him in.

He’d tried running enough times to know it would only elicit uproarious laughter before they’d grab him and throw him back to the center of the room.

Running was a little silly, he had to admit that much even to himself. He had no idea where he was or which door would’ve led to somewhere he wanted to be in—if those doors would’ve even been open. It wasn’t much of a wonder they laughed.

But what else was he supposed to do? Fighting hadn’t worked. He was so vastly outnumbered they had no issues whatsoever just pinning him down until he couldn’t fight anymore, and that was if they didn’t alone already mass so much more than him that they could pin him without any help.

Those spikes hurt the worst.

He could hear Sunstreaker’s ragged ventilations off to the side where they’d dumped his brother onto the floor. Sunstreaker hadn’t tried getting up again, and Sideswipe wasn’t sure if that was because he was too hurt to, or because he had similarly come to the conclusion that it really wouldn’t have done any good.

Endure. That was all they could do at this point.

His ventilations hitched, but Sideswipe continued to ignore the tears that streamed from his optics. They’d made fun of those too, when he’d first started crying. By now it was old news and they only laughed if they got him to cry harder with something they did.

But for the moment there was no one touching him beyond the grip that kept his wrists pinned together on the surface of the table—mech wasn’t even paying attention to him anymore—and Sideswipe took the second’s respite it was to pick the pieces of his pride and dignity off the metaphorical floors, dust them off, and store them for a later moment when he might have a chance to try to put them back together.

Now if they’d just let him pick up the physical pieces of himself too. They hadn’t exactly given him the time to retract his valve cover, doubtful as it was that he would’ve done that voluntarily. And maybe that was what they’d figured, that he might not even do it anyway, so just cut the chase and tear it off completely!

What did he even need it for, amirite?

Sideswipe couldn’t quite contain his sob this time around, but luckily no one took notice of it, because one of the sets of double doors opened just then. Sideswipe turned his helm to look, and his spark shrank at the sight of the massive grey mech even he, a certified _gamin,_ could recognize. 

Megatron. The tyrant of Kaon, dictator of the city-state.

Unquestioned ruler of the whole damn place.

Megatron asked something from the room at large in Kaonite—and Sideswipe still couldn’t understand a word of it—his red optics passing between him and Sunstreaker. Sideswipe couldn’t see Sunstreaker himself, but he heard his twin growl. Down but not out.

One of the beatifically grinning _lackeys_ at Sideswipe’s feet responded to Megatron, in Kaonite as well. Sideswipe growled too now, to the tune of more laughter around him.

Megatron was smiling right along with the rest of the room, a genuinely amused expression at complete odds with the usual furious scowl he was depicted with in all the images Sideswipe had seen of him.

He walked into the room like he owned the place, as he did, with mecha moving from his way as surely as if he had had a physical barrier around him keeping everyone at a respectful distance. He walked all the way to where Sideswipe judged Sunstreaker to be laying, then nudged something— _Sunstreaker_ —with his pede.

Like he was shocked, Sunstreaker lunged to his feet with another reverberating snarl. Everyone laughed again, barring Megatron who merely cocked an optical ridge in amusement. The noise only doubled when Sunstreaker stumbled and fell back into the _waiting_ arms of their rapists.

He only growled harder when he was harmlessly caught, but when he tried to jerk away, they wouldn’t let him.

Sideswipe could see him ventilating hard, before his attention was stolen by Megatron again. He was approaching, and with a wave of his servo the mecha scattered from around Sideswipe.

He shot into a sitting position, a sinking feeling in his spark warning him he likely wouldn’t like whatever was going to come next.

Megatron was next to him before he had the time to force his numb limbs into further cooperation. “Let’s see what you have, little one, _hmm?”_ Megatron asked from him in perfect standard, freezing Sideswipe in place with the weight of his red gaze. His spark was spinning in his chest like a mad thing, and he couldn’t but squeak when Megatron grabbed him by the throat in one sudden motion, forcing him back against the table and spinning him in place until his helm faced Megatron’s crotch.

He knew exactly what was going to come next. “NO!” Sideswipe flailed hard, trying to pull and twist himself free from Megatron’s hold, but it was like Megatron didn’t even _feel_ his struggles with how easily he kept his grip. Sideswipe’s servos shot to the wrist of the hand holding his throat, digging his claws on, but if looks were anything to go by, Megatron’s armor was beyond thick.

He probably didn’t even feel it.

But Sideswipe would feel this. His mouth started aching all over again when Megatron retracted his upper modesty panel and let his spike pressurize.

It was just as big as a mech his size should have, which meant nothing short of colossal next to Sideswipe.

And he didn’t want it anywhere near him, not his mouth, not his valve. Desperate, Sideswipe bent his body in half to kick at Megatron with all the force he could muster—what good could that possibly do for him? Primus, he had no idea—but Megatron merely stepped to the side, his grip on Sideswipe’s throat tightening to a threatening degree.

There was no anger, not even annoyance when Megatron said something to his peers. At once Sideswipe’s legs were grabbed and brought back to the table, and _pinned_ there. He tried to kick free, but it did nothing. “Get the frag away from me!” he barked at Megatron, glaring with undisguised hatred and _fear_ at the mech easily more than twice his mass.

This would hurt so, so bad. Tears were streaming from his optics unbidden again and his throat was constricting from more than just Megatron’s hold on it.

There was an uptick at the corner of Megatron’s serene mouth, but that was all. “Enough of that, now. _Open.”_

_Like hell._

Sideswipe bared his clenched denta and _growled._

There was more laughter from all around him, but no sound from Megatron. He made up for his silence with action, bringing his free servo around and slipping one of his massive digits past Sideswipe’s lips, all the way to the farthest reach of his mouth where he could jab it in the empty area behind his denta and force his mouth open.

He did it with swiftness and familiarity that made Sideswipe think he’d repeated that same move far too many times before.

Thick digits were shoved into his mouth the moment there was a gap between his denta, and pushed far enough that Sideswipe gagged on them, his back arching off the table. Megatron kept them there for one torturous moment before replacing them with his spike in a move that was similarly so practiced Sideswipe couldn’t help but despair.

And the spike was so much worse. It instantly forced his jaw open wide enough that his faceplates stung from the stretch and Sideswipe screamed as it was rammed straight to the back of his mouth, hitting his throat and making him gag all over again. Except this time it didn’t end there, like it hadn’t any of the times the others had decided to use his mouth.

Megatron pulled him forward enough for his helm to fall off the edge of the table, straightening his throat so that he could shove his spike down it with a jab of his hips. Sideswipe’s servos tightened around the wrist steadily holding him when his intake was stretched far enough that he was surprised it didn’t rupture right away.

It hurt so much, and none of the other spikes had adequately prepared him to take it. Sideswipe cried out, or tried to, but his vocalizer was all but crushed and nothing but a garbled little peal of static came out.

Then Megatron pulled back until only the tip of his spike was still in Sideswipe’s mouth, leaving his throat a gaping _hole,_ just for him to push back in again in the next moment. 

On the next withdrawal, Sideswipe managed a scream, and he could hear a cheer rise in the room. Celebrating his _pain._

And Sunstreaker was yelling above it all. “Let the frag go of him you slagger! Leave him be! Fragging– Take me instead, just leave him _alone!”_

Megatron had to hear, but he paid it no mind. There was no time for Sideswipe to adjust to any of it, if he even physically _could_ have ever, before Megatron had already increased his pace, pulling almost all the way out of his mouth before thrusting back down his throat.

Sideswipe struggled. There was nothing left of conscious effort in his motions, just the primal need to get _away_ from the abuse, from having his burning throat opened up over and over again by something that was never intended to go down it. He flailed, but they had his legs, and Megatron ignored anything his arms did, whether it was hitting, scratching, or gripping.

Eventually it was just gripping, his servos having landed back on Megatron’s arm to do no more than _hold on._

Megatron kept fragging his mouth. His gag reflex could only take it for so long before his frame heaved and expelled the contents of his tanks—what little there was left from the past times this had already happened.

Megatron just ignored it, even as Sideswipe’s regurgitation bubbled past the spike stretching his mouth open and streamed down his face. It mixed with tears and oral lubricant, and the old messes of energon and transfluid already painting his face.

There was more casual chatter and laughter in the room, Sideswipe could hear it dimly past the wet sound of having his throat ravaged—past the pain that kept trying to steal all of his focus. 

It hurt. It wouldn’t stop hurting, and Megatron wouldn’t stop thrusting in and out, stretching the pain filled moments just as his throat was being stretched.

He screamed again in another brief moment his throat was temporarily abandoned by Megatron’s spike, and this time he could both hear and _feel_ Megatron rumble, the vibrations traveling down his spike and touching his sore lips. “That’s it, you little bitch,” Megatron growled at him, lowly, quietly, as if only he was supposed to hear. _“Cry for me.”_

And Sideswipe did, yelling weakly again only for the sound to get distorted into a bleat of static when Megatron pushed back in. There was no sense to this. No one gave one single damn about his comfort, his pain, his _anything,_ just as long as they could use his body and whatever hole they pleased to take their pleasure. 

Megatron was no different from the rest, and his words were no different from the abuse already hurled at him, but he was the _leader._ He was the only one who could’ve made this stop, but instead he sanctioned all of it and partook in it himself.

And took pleasure in it. Sideswipe could feel _that_ much in the way Megatron’s thrusts began to eventually stammer and lose their rhythm. He pushed in deep only to grind his hips against Sideswipe’s face in circular motions that brought a new fresh hell of hurt to his stretched throat.

Tears were running from his optics despite how tightly he’d shut them. Megatron pulled out, did a few shallow humps that barely dipped into his throat, then thrust in deep again and circled his hips.

_Endure._

That was all he could do, but Sideswipe doubted there would be an end to this. Now or ever. Wasn’t this what they’d been brought in for?

What would be his way out? Death?

_He didn’t want to die._

But this didn’t exactly make him want to live either.

Megatron thrust as deep as he could get one more time before gripping Sideswipe’s throat tighter, squeezing him around his spike through one tiny thrust, then another, before Sideswipe could feel the hot pulses of his transfluid deep down his intake. Mistakenly he tried to swallow on reflex, which pulled a pleased rumble from his assailant. The _last_ thing he had wanted, but it was too late by that point. 

Megatron held him there for what felt like an eternity, rubbing his spike through Sideswipe’s throat and milking the last bits of transfluid out of it where Sideswipe refused to swallow again. His mouth twitched around the stretch his lips were forced into while he waited, and cried, and hurt, and silently prayed for it to stop already.

Panic nearly overtook him again when Megatron _didn’t stop there_ but instead rocked his hips with the threat of just fragging _continuing._ He flailed, but his legs were still obediently pinned by Megatron’s followers, and this time Megatron struck him across the face for the way his arms hit him.

It wasn’t any small strike either. Sideswipe gasped through his vents at the additional pain in what was already a life of torture.

And Megatron continued rocking, moving his hips just so to slide his spike up and down in Sideswipe’s throat.

Sideswipe had already almost drowned in his pit of despair by the time Megatron pulled out and _didn’t_ push back in again. Immediately the contents of Sideswipe’s tanks followed him all over again, though this time it was mostly Megatron’s own transfluid that came out. Some of it splattered onto Megatron’s thighs from the force of its expulsion, but the tyrant utterly ignored it just as he went on to utterly ignore Sideswipe.

Crying, defiled Sideswipe with his face a mess of tears, lubricant, transfluid, and his own _vomit._ His legs were released, but he didn’t try to move beyond wiping one shaking servo across his sore mouth.

It wasn’t just his servo that was shaking, it was the whole rest of him too. Shivering, interrupted with larger jerks when his sobs took the better of him.

His throat hurt. He wasn’t sure it would ever return back to its normal size, it sure didn’t feel like it had yet. Maybe it would be better if it didn’t, if this was just going to repeat.

And Sideswipe feared this _was_ going to repeat.

“You were _so_ eager to have your turn. Now you’ll have it,” Sideswipe heard Megatron say, and looked past his veil of tears at him. Megatron had turned his attention to Sunstreaker, his spike still standing proudly between his legs, and Sideswipe thought he now knew the purpose of Megatron’s last little jerks: to keep his spike in pressurization so he could rape Sunstreaker next.

“Please,” Sideswipe whispered, but between the pain and fear robbing his voice and his vocalizer only barely functional from the abuse it had taken, he wasn’t sure if anyone even heard him.

_Please, not Sunstreaker._

* * *

“Don’t touch me,” Sunstreaker hissed as Megatron took a step towards him. He jerked in the grasp of the mecha holding him, but they wouldn’t let go of him—keeping him in place as the tyrant approached.

“Changed your mind already?” the grey mech asked, stroking his spike. “Did your brother’s fate make you think twice?”

Megatron knew, he fragging _knew_ what he’d done was messed up.

And he did it anyway.

Sunstreaker growled, trying to pull himself free so he could slug the arrogant fragger straight on his privates.

It didn’t work, but no one was holding his _legs._

The size difference between them was absurd, but Sunstreaker was flexible enough. As soon as the tyrant was close enough, he kicked _up,_ aiming squarely at Megatron’s groin. Unfortunately for him, Megatron had reflexes he couldn’t rightly laugh at. He rendered his kick perfectly harmless with a simple step to the side, grabbing Sunstreaker’s leg instead.

The mechs that had been holding him let go just when Megatron _yanked,_ pulling him entirely off balance and sending him crashing to the floor. His helm hit it with a clang and a blossom of pain, but Sunstreaker managed to keep quiet. He glared up at Megatron as soon as he’d centered his senses again, trying to pull his leg free.

Megatron didn’t let go, though. Instead Sunstreaker was the one that got pulled as the larger mech simply _lifted him off the floor_ by his leg, hanging him upside down.

Sunstreaker stilled for a moment before a growl rumbled in his engine, rising in volume as his fury grew. “Let the slag go of me!” He tried to kick out with his free leg, but as much as he managed to hit Megatron, it glanced harmlessly off his armor. “Slagging let go of me and _I’ll kick your ass back to the assembly line!”_

“Fightful,” Megatron said with _approval,_ ratcheting Sunstreaker’s anger all the higher.

But it was fully impotent against the tyrant, just as it had been impotent against his followers before that. He was _slammed_ to the nearest table in short order, his chest impacting with it with enough force that his already sore frame pulsed pain at him from all the sensors tested by Megatron’s subordinates. His vents gasped, but Sunstreaker strangled his vocalizer until no sound emerged.

Whatever satisfaction he could deny from Megatron, he would. 

“Has my court turned you into enough of a whore yet?” Megatron asked casually as he grabbed both of Sunstreaker’s arms and pulled them behind his back, shackling his wrists together with one servo.

He’d been in a similar position tonight more times than he cared to count.

 _“Frag off,”_ Sunstreaker growled, and fought against the tight grip on him despite how _futile_ he knew that to be. “Don’t _whores_ usually get paid, anyway?”

“You’re paid by being allowed to keep your life,” Megatron rumbled at him, just at the edge of outright laughter. Sunstreaker revved until his engine hurt. There was little left of fear anymore, drowned out by sheer _rage._

Yet there was _nothing_ he could do about any of it.

Megatron pulled his hips up, placed one of his own pedes on the table’s edge, and _drove_ into his valve.

And Motormaster had been bad. The big mech that had the first go at him had been bad. Every time someone had gotten the bright idea of shoving two spikes into his valve at once had been bad.

But none of them compared to _Megatron._ Sunstreaker couldn’t tell if his spike was any bigger than what he’d already taken over the course of the… Day, night, how long had it been? It didn’t matter, even less so when his processors were assaulted with the agony of having his frame stretched past capacity _all over again._ Maybe Megatron wasn’t any bigger than Motormaster or his _friend,_ or maybe he was smaller even, but he was still _too big._

What mattered most was the _strength_ the tyrant put behind each and every thrust. It wasn’t just about taking his pleasure from Sunstreaker’s frame, it was about making Sunstreaker hurt in the process.

And by Primus but it _hurt._ The ceiling of his valve was battered with every rapid, hard push in, and Sunstreaker worried for the rest of his internals. His valve, now nothing more than one big point of _pain,_ wasn’t a vital component by any measure. No matter how it would hurt, it wouldn’t kill him.

But there were parts beyond it that _did_ matter.

And it was as if Megatron was gunning for those directly with the amount of _oomph_ he put behind his thrusts.

Sunstreaker couldn’t hold back his moan of pain when Megatron struck in particularly deep, ramming into components past his valve. Spikes were supposed to be sensitive too, but it was as if Megatron didn’t even _feel_ hitting parts that yielded considerably less than a valve did. He only pulled back out and repeated the motion.

Over and over again. Sunstreaker could only keep quiet for so long before Megatron found the right angle to hit the hardest and deliver the most _pain._

His resulting screams echoed among the laughter and cheers that rose in the room, but he could hardly make sense of the words of approval, encouragement, and _admiration_ that Megatron was showered with for getting the _quiet one_ to scream so loud. Maybe that was because some of them were spoken in Kaonite.

Maybe it was just because his processors were bombarded with too many signals for them to work through all of them in time. He drowned in the tidal wave of agony Megatron was delivering _on_ and _in_ his body—gasping for air, trying to press his hips down and away from the abuse.

But Megatron’s claws dug into his hip and kept him in place.

It just would not _end._ When Megatron got bored of drilling him from behind, he was effortlessly flipped over, his back clanging into the table to another burst of pain from all around his frame. _Vortex’s work,_ he had the time to think before Megatron plunged into his valve again, and found even _more_ points of pain to exploit.

His anguish filled his frame, his mind, and his spark. A heavy servo pressed against his chest, pinning him against the table—his legs were spread wide around Megatron’s hips–

And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about any of it, now not only because Megatron was simply too strong, but because his thoughts were assaulted with more hurt than he’d ever experienced before in his _life._

He didn’t know how he was supposed to take it, but here he was, _not dying_ no matter what he felt like. He could hear Sideswipe’s screams distantly, but for whatever reason that was all that came of it— _pinned down, couldn’t help_ —and all the while the room continued to be a thing of _brouhaha_ around him. Megatron himself didn’t join in on it with anything more than the revving of his engine, arousal kicking it into a higher gear.

Sunstreaker held onto the arm pinning him down, not quite managing to find the wherewithal to try to push it off of him by any means necessary. No doubt none of that would’ve worked.

Then there was a servo in front of him, long, thick claws dipping into his open mouth. They pushed in, struck the back of his throat, made him gag, then pulled out, and _repeated the motion_ in time with the thrusts into his valve. 

Megatron’s pace quickened both down there and up here and Sunstreaker’s frame pressed up against the servo pinning him down for an entirely different reason. Gag after gag Megatron kept fingerfucking his mouth, kept pounding into his valve, until his frame couldn’t take it anymore. Like he hadn’t already done that enough times, his frame expelled the contents of his tanks—others’ transfluid, little else—pulsing it up around Megatron’s digits until it streamed from the corners of his mouth and dirtied his face further.

The tyrant said something Sunstreaker couldn’t make sense of, and he wasn’t sure it was even directed at him. The wet digits withdrew from his mouth as he tried to swallow back down what had already come up once, just to get it out of his mouth.

A massive palm struck him across the face before his jaw was grabbed into a vice grip. Sunstreaker struggled to focus back on the reality around him, barely surfacing from the tides of torment that wanted to wash him under for good—that he _wished_ would pull him down all the way, just so he could escape all of this, however momentarily.

But Megatron had slowed in his pace, now staring at him with intent. “I’ll put that mouth to good use later,” he growled, and it wasn’t as much a threat as it was a _promise._

Sunstreaker closed his optics, willing away the tears that wanted to fill them. 

Megatron slapped his face again. “Optics open,” came the command before his helm was grabbed, bending it down until he was forced to watch Megatron’s spike disappear into his frame time after time through reluctantly opening optics.

But he refused to cry.

He didn’t know if that impressed Megatron or what did it, but the tyrant’s field pulsed approval a second before his spike pulsed transfluid into the depths of his valve. He wasn’t sure if the sensation was true or imagined, but he could’ve sworn the come trickled straight into his internals.

He wouldn’t have been surprised if his valve really had torn through from the ministrations of countless spikes, Megatron’s the worst of all.

But at last the tyrant pulled out, a flood of transfluid following his retreating spike. Sunstreaker went to close his optics again, but the further tightening of the servo on his jaw brought them back open. His helm was tilted up now, until he had no choice but to meet Megatron’s piercing gaze.

“These two,” he spoke up with enough volume that the room silenced, “belong to _me_ now.”

Sideswipe’s engine hitched somewhere off to his side, and Megatron used his other servo to reach to Sideswipe–

To shove his digits straight into Sideswipe’s valve. His twin jerked at the contact and tried to pull away, but the claws _hooked_ until he would’ve torn his own valve if he did that.

They were both venting hard, both in pain, both scared out of their minds as the implications of Megatron’s words broke through to them.

“And you will remember that,” Megatron continued more quietly, leaning in. His spike flirted with the entrance to his valve again, but didn’t push in.

Sunstreaker wasn’t sure he had ever been as grateful for anything before, than what he was for the small mercy of not being assaulted all over again on the heels of the first time he hadn’t even recovered from yet. “You will do _everything_ I say,” the tyrant kept on, _yanking_ at Sideswipe’s valve to a pained mewl from him, “and your frames will serve me until _I_ choose otherwise.”

Sideswipe was crying.

Sunstreaker wanted to cry.

Instead he bared his denta and _snarled._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not in order of happenstance:
> 
> Rape, gangrape, and more rape  
> Seriously, there’s not a single consensual thing here  
> Also mostly everything’s pretty graphic  
> And basically everyone except the victims is laughing through the whole thing  
> Size difference  
> General interface related pain and screaming  
> Verbal humiliation  
> General humiliation  
> Physical abuse  
> Face slapping  
> Aft slapping  
> Interface related damage  
> Mild-ish torture  
> Oral knotting  
> Deepthroating  
> Gagging and vomiting from said deepthroating  
> Fingerfucking of the throat and vomiting from that too  
> No one giving a fuck about all the vomit  
> Simultaneous penetration from both ends  
> Double penetration in one hole
> 
> Additional named pairings: Motormaster/Sideswipe, Motormaster/Sunstreaker (extra brief), Wildrider/Sideswipe, Vortex/Sunstreaker, Brawl/Sunstreaker, Ravage/Sunstreaker, Frenzy/Rumble/Sideswipe


	3. Introduction to the Harem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not all sex! But there is sex.
> 
> See the end notes for the not so nice stuff that happens in this chapter if you wanna know what you're getting into.

As soon as Megatron laid his claim, it was as if they were untouchable. Literally. No one put a servo on them for any reason after that point. They were left on the tables in disgraceful heaps once Megatron was through with them, and the attention of everyone just… Shifted away from them. Some of the mecha that were gathered even started to leave, disappearing through any of the many doors along the walls.

Megatron himself waited a while though. Sideswipe wasn’t sure what for at first. The chat he was having with another of the larger mecha present didn’t seem all that serious based on the expressions and gestures involved, even if he couldn’t understand the language.

But enough of that. Sideswipe reached a servo across the table’s surface and gently laid his digits on Sunstreaker’s. He wasn’t sure if his brother was even conscious with how quiet and still he was in their spark, but Sunstreaker’s servo moved at the contact and he turned his helm to look at Sideswipe. Sideswipe gave him a watery smile before whispering, “Are you okay?”

Stupid question. He could feel for himself the hurt in Sunstreaker’s frame, and that it wasn’t life threatening, but that Sunstreaker was still _hurting,_ and not just physically. Or maybe that was him. The emotions ricocheted between them until he didn’t know who had originated what.

“Been better,” Sunstreaker responded in another hoarse whisper. Sideswipe was sure some of the mecha around them could still hear them, but… 

No one touched them, and no one said anything to them either.

He nodded in acknowledgment of what Sunstreaker said, not really sure how to continue. Not that there was much point in continuing anyway. There wasn’t really anything they needed to say.

At least the suffering seemed to be over for the time being. Megatron kept sending glances their way every now and then under Sideswipe’s distrustful optics, but no more than that. There was still all the lingering hurt, but no one was adding to it.

He would take it.

They laid there for a while longer, servos touching but not really daring to move in case that would’ve spurred more abuse. Sideswipe didn’t want anything more of what they’d already been through.

In the long term he was sure that hope was completely _in vain,_ but… Even just for the moment.

Before too long, though, one of the doors opened to admit a new mech onto the scene. He walked straight to Megatron and gave a shallow bow when he reached the tyrant. They exchanged words in Kaonite before both mecha’s optics landed on the brothers. Sideswipe tensed.

The new mech bowed again before abandoning Megatron—who proceeded to leave the room—coming straight for them instead. Incredibly wary, Sideswipe slowly pushed himself into a sitting position on the table. Sunstreaker did the same and they both eyed the new mech distrustfully.

“I’m Hot Shot,” he introduced himself, giving them the smallest of smiles and stopping a respectful, cautious distance away. “One of Megatron’s mates. I’ve been asked to show you to our wing.”

Sideswipe stared at the mech blankly for a second before glancing at Sideswipe just as Sunstreaker was glancing at them. After another second of looking at each other Sunstreaker nodded barely perceptibly, and Sideswipe turned back to… Hot Shot. “Yeah, uh… Okay,” he mumbled, not really feeling like introducing them when their abusers were still all around him.

He had no idea what was happening anymore. Were they Megatron’s mates now too? Didn’t they get any say in that?

They’d just gotten raped in more ways than he could count and he was wondering if they’d _ask_ how much he wanted to be someone’s mate? These folks didn’t exactly seem to care about their wants and desires.

It wasn’t… All the way resignation that he felt right then, but something akin to it anyway. There was still a hell of a lot of denial covering it all. The ‘this can't possibly be true, things just can’t be _this_ bad’.

All the same, Hot Shot seemed almost relieved when that was all they had to say. “Please follow me, then,” he said, and Sideswipe nodded numbly, carefully sliding himself off the table and testing how well his legs even carried him anymore.

Surprisingly, pretty well. Pain was shooting from his valve, but not to an unbearable extent.

He could do this.

Whatever _this_ was.

Sunstreaker came to stand next to him. Hot Shot waited patiently until they both looked ready to walk on their own two pedes, then smiled at them with a bit more confidence before gesturing them along.

When he turned around to lead the way, Sideswipe could see a… A brand on Hot Shot’s back, a symbol he wasn’t familiar with burned into his upper back near his left shoulder. It was painted differently from the rest of his plating to accentuate the dip of the scar against healthy armor, but in an expertly subtle fashion that it didn’t jump at your face, while being completely visible.

He wanted to ask about it, but there was probably a time and place for that and now… Likely wasn’t it.

So they followed in silence. Sideswipe felt a little bit shaky, and not just from the abuse they’d just endured—there was straight up fear too as they slunk past their rapists. Hot Shot paid none of them any mind, and surprisingly, they didn’t get a lot of attention either. A few looks, but… That was really it.

Was Megatron’s claim really that powerful of a thing? It appeared so.

And honestly, he couldn’t tell any of the doors in the room apart, but Hot Shot knew where he was going and led them to one specific door, and through it into a spacious hallway that was almost big enough to be called a room.

Everything was so… _Luxurious._ That was the only word he could think of to describe what he was seeing, from the carefully picked colors to the decorative swirls and patterns along the walls, and floors, and ceiling. Practically _everything_ was decorated, but just unobtrusively enough that it didn’t overwhelm the optic. Matte created a showy contrast with shiny; the lights bounced just right from every surface and broke into brilliance in the decorative crystal growths that sat in their pots.

Their walk was followed by a short lift ride to a higher floor. Another hallway-slash-room greeted them when the lift doors opened again, just as _deluxe_ as the lower floor. Hot Shot led the way to one of the doors out of the many they could see spaced quite far apart from each other along the massive hallway.

Outside of every set of grand doors stood two guards, stony faced and still as statues. Actually, some of them were probably drones built to look like sentient mecha.

The ones guarding the doors Hot Shot led them to, though, those were sparked mecha that watched their approach and opened the doors for them. Hot Shot ignored them, so Sideswipe and Sunstreaker did too.

There was _another_ set of guards at the other side of the doors, and Sideswipe had some concerns over the security measures in place. Was it to keep someone _out…_

Or someone _in?_

Several _someones?_

The color scheme changed as they stepped through those doors. “This is the harem wing,” Hot Shot said with a general gesture at the space they were greeted with. “Your new home.” It was a hallway, not quite as big as the previous one, but long. Very long. The walls were still decorated, but they were now colored in an orange-brown with accents of yellow. The floors were lush colors in similar hues. The high ceiling was a little darker, unintrusive.

The light in the hallway was dim, but somehow it only managed to make the space feel… Intimate.

And the _smell._ That was the next thing he noticed right after he’d finished ogling the walls and floors.

The stench of _interface_ was heavy in the air. Musky, which only made the space feel that much more erotic, somehow.

It looked pleasant, but Sideswipe hated the mood of it _instantly._

_“Harem?”_ Sunstreaker asked sharply, and Sideswipe realized he’d completely glossed over what Hot Shot had said.

Now he couldn’t understand how he’d managed that. “Harem?” he squeaked on the heels of Sunstreaker’s question.

Were they really..?

Was the pit _was_ this place?

Hot Shot didn’t look at him when he answered, “Megatron has several mates. All of us live here. Starscream will show you around in a bit, but first…” He turned to the first set of doors on the left. They opened to him and revealed a relatively large medbay on the other side. “This is for the harem’s use only,” Hot Shot told them before switching to Kaonite and raising his voice for the attention of a red mech bustling around at the other end of the room.

They turned around at Hot Shot’s voice, and… They weren’t as good looking as Sunstreaker in Sideswipe’s humble opinion, but they were still pretty damn pretty. They said something back to Hot Shot, more words Sideswipe didn’t understand one bit of, before they disappeared from view into another room.

“Is he..?” Sideswipe lowered his voice to ask from Hot Shot, gesturing vaguely in the direction the mech had gone to. He didn’t manage to finish the sentence, but Hot Shot understood what he was after anyway.

“One of the mates? No, Knock Out’s just our medic,” was all he had the time to say before Knock Out—some name he had on him—reappeared, carrying something…

The symbol at the end of the metal stick he was carrying–

It matched the one on Hot Shot’s back.

And Sideswipe thought he knew where this was going. “Oh, oh no no no,” he said, backing towards the door, but Knock Out spoke over him.

“Oh don’t worry, it’ll only hurt for a _moment,”_ as if that was Sideswipe’s biggest concern. “Let’s just get it out of the way.”

“No!” Sideswipe said shrilly, his back hitting the door. It didn’t budge for _him._ “I’m not okay with this! No one’s sticking that thing on me!” Sunstreaker had retreated with him and was growling wordlessly in agreement, his arms crossed tightly across his chassis.

Knock Out ignored them. Hot Shot was looking at them almost sadly.

Sideswipe hated it immediately. He didn’t want his pity, no matter what had happened or was about to happen. His snarl joined Sunstreaker’s.

Then the door suddenly opened, and Sideswipe hadn’t realized how much he had been leaning against it before he nearly lost his balance when it disappeared from his back. He windmilled his arms until he found his balance again, and would’ve bolted from the room immediately if he hadn’t turned around only to come face to chest with one of the guards. The other guard was next to him, and there was also a Seeker in red, blue, and white, effectively blocking the entire doorway.

They stepped into the room and forced him to back away. The door closed behind them, and Sideswipe guessed it wouldn’t open again. Not for him, at least.

He was venting hard, and Sunstreaker still hadn’t stopped growling.

The Seeker said something in Kaonite, and both Knock Out and Hot Shot responded in kind, gesturing at him and Sunstreaker.

The guards didn’t have anything to say or any expressions to make. Sideswipe had no idea what they were thinking, beyond it probably being something along the lines of ‘I’ll do my job no matter what’.

“I’m Starscream,” the Seeker suddenly spoke up in accented standard—but it was a _Vosian_ accent. Which made sense, most Seekers were from Vos.

How had he ended up _here,_ though? “Welcome to the harem,” he continued, but he didn’t really sound… Welcoming.

More bored than anything, and like he didn’t really want to be there.

Well, good for him, Sideswipe didn’t really want to be there either. “It’s the time to brand you according to Megatron’s wishes. We can do this the easy way, or the hard way. Which is it going to be?”

“That thing is _not_ touching me,” Sideswipe growled, jabbing a digit and glaring at the branding tool Knock Out was casually heating. Like this was going to happen no matter what.

Like pit! He’d had enough of mecha not giving one flying damn about what he wanted. It was _his_ frame! Wasn’t he supposed to have a say in what happened to it?

“Hard way, then,” Starscream almost sighed, then gestured at the two guards. Sideswipe braced himself, but they didn’t come for _him._

Instead they grabbed _Sunstreaker._ His brother roared in fury as he was dragged over to Knock Out by the bigger mecha, bodily spun around, and forced onto his knees in front of the medic, his back facing him. 

“NO! Let go of him!” Sunstreaker didn’t want this any more than he did, but when Sideswipe tried to jump to his brother’s defense, he was suddenly grabbed by his (already sore) throat.

Starscream yanked him back against his chassis. Sideswipe tried to flail free, but the more he struggled, the tighter Starscream’s hold got, until it was seriously endangering the soundness of his frame. He grabbed onto the harm holding him, but he wasn’t sure Starscream _wouldn’t_ decapitate him—he sure gave the vibes he might—so his struggles died down at the face of the Seeker’s vice grip.

Starscream gestured imperiously with his free arm.

Knock Out looked all kinds of uncaring as he finished heating the branding tool and took the cue. With a practiced motion he stepped over to Sunstreaker—growling, glaring Sunstreaker, held down by a guard bearing down on each arm. His brother was showing no signs of fear on the outside, nothing but undisguised _hatred_ in his optics, but Sideswipe could feel their spark fluttering with anxiety and _helplessness._

Frag this! Frag it all. What kind of pit had they landed into? What was _wrong_ with these mecha?

With one even motion Knock Out pressed the brand to Sunstreaker’s back plating, up near his left shoulder. Sunstreaker hissed and tried to arch away from the burn, but Knock Out only moved with him and kept the brand there until Sunstreaker’s armor fully melted from the heat, leaving an ugly mark behind.

Once the brand was inches deep Knock Out removed the branding tool and still so fragging _casual,_ cleaned Sunstreaker’s molten bits off its end.

The guards released his brother with the process over. Sunstreaker was venting even harder than Sideswipe was, and it hurt. Fuckit all but his back burned, the pain radiating from his back into his left arm, making it tremble–

Sideswipe tore his consciousness from Sunstreaker’s frame when the guards stepped over to him. Starscream released his hold only for the two brutes to grab him instead. Sunstreaker staggered to his feet, back to snarling—or had he ever stopped?—but Starscream made a warning sound behind Sideswipe.

There was a tense moment where they all waited for what would happen next. The guards held him, Knock Out stood there with the branding tool in hand, ready to go again, Hot Shot was off to the side, staying out of the way, Sunstreaker was shaking from more than pain now, anger pouring from him in waves, and Starscream–

Was tapping his pede impatiently. “Well?” he demanded, and the guards moved, pushing Sunstreaker out of the way and placing Sideswipe on the same spot his brother had occupied a moment ago, coming down on him with enough pressure that his knees buckled and brought him down.

“Don’t even try it,” Starscream said, and he could’ve only said that to Sunstreaker. It was followed by aggravated cursing from his twin. When Sideswipe looked, Starscream had Sunstreaker in a choke hold, threatening to pop his helm off his shoulders no doubt.

Distracted by that, Sideswipe didn’t hear Knock Out approach before the brand was already pressed to his back. The sudden pain tore a cry from his vocalizer and his frame tried desperately to arch away from the burn, but Knock Out wouldn’t let up for what felt like an eternity.

He could feel his armor _melting away_ as the brand pressed against his plating insistently. His HUD flared with alarms, but not like he could do anything about the damage being inflicted on him— _this time either._

There had already been too many _previous_ times.

Then, as suddenly as it had come, it was gone, and Knock Out stepped away and only the afterburn remained.

It still hurt. It didn’t matter the brand wasn’t pressing into him anymore, it still fucking _hurt,_ and Sideswipe tried hard to fight back the tears. It wasn’t just the pain, it was also the… Further violation.

Like he didn’t own his own frame anymore, others did whatever they wanted to it. Hot Shot had seemed nice, but he was just another accomplice in this whole thing. He hadn’t done _anything_ to stop them.

Sideswipe hung his helm and didn’t get up when the guards released him. Starscream let go of Sunstreaker too, now that the excitement was over and there wasn’t anything left for them to fight.

The damage had already been done.

They were both heaving ragged ventilations and Sideswipe barely noticed when the guards, Starscream, and Hot Shot left the medbay, leaving just Knock Out with them. He wasn’t particularly patient, and already the medic was calling Sunstreaker over to an exam berth. “Let me file down those edges, it should have cooled down enough by now.”

Sideswipe glanced up just in time to see Sunstreaker shoulders slump just a little bit, not even enough to see unless you knew where to look. And Sideswipe knew what he was thinking.

_The damage had already been done._

What was there left to fight anymore?

So Sunstreaker walked over to the exam berth and sat down on it, and Knock Out worked on the brand until all of the sharp edges were smoothed out and the glide of armor pieces against armor pieces was as effortless as it had ever been.

Except now there was a brand among all the moving parts, deep enough that it would be impossible to hide.

Sideswipe didn’t climb back to his pedes before Knock Out beckoned him over to another exam berth. Then he went, and Knock Out repeated the process on him. It hurt too, but his spark hurt more than his frame did right then.

He would’ve rather taken physical pain over it.

“Now then,” Knock Out said once he was done with their fresh brands, switching his tools around, “I’m Knock Out, and I will be your physician. Let me make sure you’re in good health.”

Sideswipe snorted derisively. Good health, after the _gang rape_ they’d been through just a little while back? The mecha here had to know the kind of _shit_ that went down in the fragging _palace._ They couldn’t possibly be that ignorant.

Knock Out, though, just ignored him, and came to inspect him first. Sideswipe let him hardline with him and kept his processors’ defenses down as the medic rooted about. “Nothing here… Very good.” Then he moved onto the physical, and _boy,_ Sideswipe could tell everything was not alright as far as physical went. 

Knock Out was thorough, though, testing the movement of his limbs, asking what hurt, where it hurt, how it hurt, triaging the many minor injuries Sideswipe had suffered and fixing dents as he went. There were no gashes for him to treat, at least.

“Hmm… Well, there is quite a bit of wear and tear… I’ll have to replace a lot of components later on. No time for that right now though.” Sideswipe puzzled over that silently. What was the hurry for?

He could’ve told about the wear and tear, though. Not like he and Sunstreaker had really had access to proper medical care and maintenance, living on the streets.

Apparently that was different now.

A lot of things were different now.

Most _not for the better._

“What I _can_ do for you right now is replace your valve cover,” Knock Out continued, already walking away towards what Sideswipe had begun to suspect was a storage area. “Your armor configuration is pretty standard, I have ready to go parts for you. Ah…” he stopped halfway there and turned to Sunstreaker, “Do you need a replacement as well?”

Sunstreaker nodded morosely. Knock Out nodded back at him, muttering something to himself as he went, but it had to have been in Kaonite because it sounded like gibberish to Sideswipe.

He returned only a couple of moments later, two valve covers in hand, and came back to Sideswipe’s side. “If you’d spread your legs for me.”

Sideswipe grit his denta and forced himself to lie back and part his legs for the medic. “Don’t get funny with me,” he growled at Knock Out, wounded pride trying to piece itself back together.

It was Knock Out’s turn to snort. “And incur Lord Megatron’s wrath for touching his mates inappropriately? I think not.”

True to that, his touch remained perfectly clinical as he quickly repaired his pelvic plating and attached the new cover. It was starting to look like no one wanted to anger Megatron even by accident. That… Probably said a lot about the tyrant.

Knock Out didn’t linger, and moved to repeat the whole checkup process from start to finish with Sunstreaker, fixing his new modesty panel in place last. Sideswipe had to admit he felt _a lot_ better with his valve hidden from view again, even if it had proven a very meager protection. He could feel the same relief in Sunstreaker as his new valve cover snapped neatly into place.

“Good as new!” Knock Out announced once he was done, stepping away from the both of them. “Well, close enough. I will work on you both more later, but this will do for now.” _Again_ there was that. Why later? Why not right now?

Sideswipe wanted to ask this time around, but didn’t get the chance before the medbay doors opened and Starscream returned to the room. He said something in Kaonite that sounded like a question, to which Knock Out nodded.

And it was getting really annoying to have others speak around them in a language they didn’t understand. But they _were_ in Kaon, so… Not like they were in a position to demand anyone to speak standard just because that was the only language they understood.

“Excellent,” Starscream said, and _that_ came out as _standard._ “Come with me. What are your designations?”

That was the first time anyone had bothered to ask for those since they’d arrived.

“Uh…” Sideswipe started as he swung his legs off the berth and got to his pedes. “I’m Sideswipe. He’s Sunstreaker,” he said with a wave of his servo in his brother’s direction.

“Twins?” Starscream asked even as he turned around with the full expectation that they’d just follow him.

Which they did, because they didn’t have a lot of reasons not to besides just being difficult for the sake of being difficult. But they were both eager to get out of the medbay. “Yeah. Split-spark,” Sideswipe answered again as they exited the medbay and came back to the hallway.

“Hm,” was all their guide had to say to that.

Starscream had the same symbol on one of his fluttering wings as what they’d just had branded onto their backs, Sideswipe noticed. The Seeker spoke up as they walked, “Megatron will have you whenever and wherever he pleases,” he said, forcing the twins to trot after his longer stride. “Get used to it. Always answer when called and fill any orders you are given without delay. Our master is easily displeased; it is _all_ our job to make sure his every need and whim is catered to.”

Well… That sounded like fun.

It didn’t. It didn’t sound like fun at all. Sideswipe’s spark shrank into an even tighter ball in its chamber.

He tried to focus on the tour they were given instead. The Seeker led the way along the long hallway, pointing to the various open doorways they passed. “Library.” Shelves rose from floor to ceiling, filled with datapads. Consoles and seating areas were dotted among them from what Sideswipe could see. Mecha— _members of the harem_ —could be seen browsing the shelves or seated, reading.

“Dining hall.” There were enough tables and chairs for _dozens_ of mecha. There was a group of mecha eating just then, chatting and quietly laughing amongst themselves. A couple glanced up as they passed the doorway.

“Washracks.” That door was closed, but Sideswipe could imagine their scale and luxury levels based on what else they’d seen so far.

“Entertainment room.” A _massive_ entertainment center dominated one wall in its entirety. The screen alone was huge, but surrounding it were game consoles, speakers, and other electronics—everything one could dream of. Sofas and armchairs of various shapes and sizes were clustered somewhat haphazardly around the rest of the room, enough of them to accommodate as many occupants as the dining hall.

Then they came to the largest doors they’d come across yet. They opened on Starscream’s approach, revealing a sizable room cut into sections by breezy curtains that didn’t do much to limit the view of the room with the way they were tied into neat groups. At one end of the room was a raised dais with a large berth on it. Cots filled the rest of the space in four neat rows, two rows grouped together. Three roomy passageways in between each group of rows allowed travel without disturbing the cots’ occupants. Each cot came with a sizable trunk at the end of it. The color scheme throughout the room continued in the warm oranges, reds, and yellows already familiar from the rest of the harem wing.

Mecha were sitting and standing around either in groups or alone, chatting, reading, browsing datapads, or doing crafts. By now Sideswipe guessed they had seen closer to fifty mecha in the wing meant entirely for Megatron's harem.

Just how many “mates” did the mech have?

And… There were mecha fragging. Sideswipe had to avert his optics when he noticed the pair in the middle of a rather heated interface. Everyone else just _ignored_ them.

He couldn’t understand it. Right now interface was the absolute _last_ thing he wanted to do. Could others think so differently? Was their experience different?

Hadn’t they been through the same torture and abuse? Should he be envious?

Starscream took no notice of the couple and just led them to the opposite end of the room from the dais with the berth—Sideswipe could take a few guesses as to its purpose, and he didn’t like any of them—stopping near the farthest wall.

”These,” he pointed at two cots at the end of one row, “Will be yours.

“The trunk locks to you and Megatron’s spark signatures; other mates can’t get to it. Feel free to store any personal belongings there.

“Quiet time is from the twenty-second cycle to eighth cycle. No one can break it but Megatron.

“Any questions? No? Good. Ask around if you think of something, I’m sure _someone_ will be able to help you. And _try_ not to break too soon, mmkay?”

Sideswipe had opened his mouth with questions, but snapped it closed when Starscream simply twirled around on one heel and marched back out of the room.

He exchanged a somewhat quizzical glance with Sunstreaker. Starscream was… Quite the personality.

But they did just have their crash course to what… What their life was going to be like from now on. The frame of their cage was pretty, he had to give it that much—lavish to the point of being totally over the top.

The whole situation was just straight up _decadent._ Here Megatron was, living as the king of his world, with… What, around fifty mates to see to his needs, _on top_ of the regular servants? This in a palace big enough that he could dedicate entire wings of it to singular purposes? Where he could provide unspeakable luxury even to his _slaves?_

He couldn’t understand it.

Sideswipe flopped himself down on one of the cots they’d been assigned. Sunstreaker crouched to inspect the trunk on the other cot, and… That was probably them choosing their cots.

Although… “Do you think we’d be allowed to push these together?” Sideswipe asked, eyeing the two cots. They weren’t attached to the floor or anything, it would be possible to move them.

And he didn’t much fancy the thought of recharging alone, even if Sunstreaker was only an arm’s reach away. They’d only ever done that in outstanding circumstances, and right here, right now…

He really didn’t want to recharge alone.

“I don’t see why not,” Sunstreaker said, looking up from the trunk he’d opened. From what Sideswipe could see, there was nothing fancy about it. Just a basic container. “If someone takes an issue with it, they can say so.”

Sideswipe nodded to that and they both stood up, moving on the opposite sides of the two cots and carefully pushing them until they collided with each other. It broke the organization of the room a little bit, but it honestly didn’t look _that_ bad despite that. They did the same to the trunks for good measure, and just like that, they had what passed close enough to a berth for two. 

Sideswipe sat back down once everything was rearranged, and Sunstreaker seated himself next to him. At the far end of the room, they had… Well, it wasn’t _really_ privacy, but it did put them a little bit out of the way. Sideswipe cast fleeting glances towards the other occupants of the room, and they did the same to them.

The one pair had finished their frag and were now just laying together.

It was a quiet moment for them, and Sideswipe went on to make the most of it. He leaned to the side and against Sunstreaker’s shoulder, rearranging himself a little bit when Sunstreaker wrapped an arm around him. He was tired, from the long and stressful trip to Kaon, and furthermore from their little _introduction_ to its ruling class. There was… A lot to unpack in this whole situation. His valve and throat hurt, making it entirely impossible to forget what had just transpired. The new brand at his back still burned, just adding to that effect. 

He was pretty sure he was still in shock, because he felt pretty numb to it all. Detached. Like he was floating in his own frame, not really grounded to reality.

It was probably for the best. He would need to face reality and the nightmare it had become eventually, but for now he was happy to just… Float.

Sunstreaker didn’t say anything, and neither did Sideswipe. He wasn’t sure how long they sat there, cuddled together, but after some undetermined amount of time movement at the door caught his attention.

It was another one of the _mates_ if he had to guess, paint bright and finish well taken care of. His optics scanned the room until his gaze landed on them, and apparently they were exactly who he was looking for because he set course for them. Sideswipe straightened, worry surging in his spark. _What now?_

“Megatron has summoned you,” the mech said as he stopped in front of them. “He’s asked that you groom yourselves and then present yourselves in his quarters. I was told to help you, so if you could come with me.”

His spark nearly abandoned his frame at the thought of having to meet Megatron _again._ After what he’d already done to them…

And despite the polite wording, it was clear it was _not_ a request. Sideswipe doubted it was because the mech was actually in a position to order them around—weren’t they mostly equal here?—but he had Megatron’s authority behind him right then.

He shared another look with Sunstreaker. What had Starscream said? ‘Fill Megatron’s orders without delay’?

No matter how much they didn’t want to?

But would it be _worse_ for them if they kept him waiting?

Sunstreaker looked back at the mech and nodded steadily, rising to his pedes. Sideswipe followed him, feeling a lot less confident than Sunstreaker appeared. He could feel both of their disquiet and dread swirling in his spark, but Sunstreaker carried himself with unwavering poise.

Sideswipe didn’t really manage the same as they followed the other mate out of the room and into the harem wing’s washracks.

As Sideswipe had expected, the washracks were straight up _opulent._ Everything was made of expensive metals and polished to perfection. Shelves around the room were filled with care products, from soaps with countless different scents to containers of polish with just as many options. There were brushes and sponges in more variety than he’d known existed. One corner was dedicated to paint, with enough color options that Sideswipe felt dizzy just looking at it.

There was just… Everything. There was even an _enormous_ oil bath that dominated the center of the room.

Everything except privacy. There were no partitions anywhere in the room, it was all in perfect display.

But it was true, they were in desperate need of some “grooming”. They’d never been that shiny to begin with; the streets didn’t offer a lot of opportunities for self-care. They’d satisfied themselves with what little shine they’d been able to create and maintain.

Now added to their lack of gloss were all manner of paint transfers, scratches and scuffs from the beating and rape they’d taken, _and_ they were covered in fluids that had no business being outside the frame. Sideswipe felt disgusting, but he’d been prepared to have to ignore that for a while.

It turned out he wouldn’t need to do that, although he suspected that once they got to Megatron… They’d probably be returned to square one pretty quickly, as far as the state of their frames went.

He swallowed, hard, reminded of the taste of transfluid still lingering on his glossa. They’d get to suffer still, he was sure of that. Would it be wrong to enjoy himself before that though? It would feel great to get to clean himself after everything that had happened, and maybe even shine himself in a way he had never managed before.

Sunstreaker had always cared about his looks a lot, and he knew it had bothered his brother they’d never been able to look anywhere close to their best on the streets.

Now though?

“Um… How well does Megatron expect us to maintain our looks?” Sideswipe asked from the other mech hesitantly as they were directed to the closest showers. The showers turned on for both of them, pleasantly warm, cuddling sore and strained cables as the solvent fell over them.

So different from the public showers they'd managed to get access to on the streets. Those had mostly been cold and uncomfortable.

“As well as you can manage,” their fellow mate responded, handing sponges to both of them and grabbing one for himself too. In a picture of efficiency he started to clean the areas of them they wouldn’t have been able to reach themselves.

The twins stood there frozen for a second, before Sunstreaker shrugged and began to clean himself. Sideswipe followed his lead and started to scrub the dried fluids from his plating. “Which should be… Very well,” the mech continued with a vague gesture at the room at large.

And Sideswipe had to agree. With the facilities provided, they shouldn’t have any trouble keeping themselves at a shine just as sumptuous as the washracks themselves, if they could be bothered.

And it sounded like they _needed_ to be bothered.

“What… What happens if he doesn’t find our appearance acceptable?” Sideswipe couldn’t help but inquire in morbid curiosity. He got a blank look for his trouble.

“Please be honest with us,” Sunstreaker spoke up. Sideswipe glanced at him and started at how quickly his brother had managed to clean his frame. Most of the grime and signs of their extended rape were already gone from him.

He better hurry up himself, apparently. Sideswipe turned his attention back to his own frame and began to scrub himself with more purpose.

The mech sighed, moving between them to help the both of them equally. “He will find ways to punish you. And if you keep disappointing him often enough, he will… Get rid of you, one way or another. I know you must think this is a pretty unpleasant lot in life, and I’m very sorry that you have to be here, but… Trust me when I say it can get even worse outside of Megatron’s protection.”

Sideswipe had to give it to the other, he was frank. And a lot more helpful than Starscream, already. He wasn’t exactly sold on the idea that this was ‘protection’ in any meaning of the word, but still, “Thanks,” he said quietly, and the mech nodded back at him silently.

“Let’s be quick but thorough about this. You don’t want to keep Megatron waiting.”

He felt a thrum of anxiety at the thought of having to see Megatron _at all_ and the confirmation that they better hurry _or else._ He wasn’t sure if it came from himself or Sunstreaker. Didn’t matter, Sideswipe could agree with the feeling all the same. There was a very rebellious side of him that wanted to dawdle as much as they could just to send the message of _shove it_ at their so called _master,_ but the other mate didn’t give them the option. As soon as they were clean, he ushered them from the showers to the paint area, and with stony skill mixed the paints until he had shades that matched their existing ones perfectly. Then he began to touch them both up. “Someone will help you strip your colors later and give you a full repaint with our high quality paints, but this will do for now,” he said. Sideswipe just nodded, feeling a bit unreal and out of touch again.

Here they were, getting all prettied up for another meeting with their new ’mate’ that would no doubt lead to them getting raped all over again.

Wasn’t that such a cheerful thought?

He kind of wanted to cry, but luckily his whole frame felt like it was a mile away and his emotions didn’t really reach it.

He’d probably have enough reasons to cry later on, anyway. No need to start right now.

Once their paint had been fixed, the scratches filled in and covered, paint transfers removed, and scuffs buffed out, it was turn for polishing. Sideswipe wouldn’t have known which of the containers to pick in a million years, but their new friend went unerringly for very specific ones, and polished they were. He could see Sunstreaker relaxing with the treatment, even as unease stuffed their spark full.

Sideswipe tried to enjoy the moment too. Things would go to shit soon enough, the least he could do was take what little pleasure he could from the in between moments dispersed among all the torment.

It was hard though. Even as the external signs of their abuse were banished, the pain remained, reminding him of what he’d soon have to endure more of if things went at all like he expected they would.

It was so messed up, the whole thing.

Long before he wanted to, they were ready and presentable. And Sideswipe had to admit, they looked damn good when he admired the both of them through one of the many mirrors in the room. Sunstreaker’s gold _gleamed_ and his black was a deeper, shinier abyss than it had ever been. His own ruby shone like a jewel and his pearly white was dazzling in its perfection.

They’d never been more eye catching, and they’d always been pretty good looking.

But they were doing this for _Megatron,_ and for that reason alone Sideswipe… Did not want to look as he did right then. It would be better if they were dirty and scuffed, just to deny their damn _master_ the pleasure of seeing them looking so beautiful.

He didn’t want to be his eye candy.

Here they were though, looking the best they had in their entire lives.

Their helper nodded in satisfaction. “You’re ready. I’ll show you the way; come.”

Sideswipe grabbed a hold of Sunstreaker’s servo and his brother entwined their digits, giving his servo a reassuring squeeze. Sideswipe felt… Better, from it, even if it was just an empty gesture. There wasn’t much Sunstreaker could do to actually make anything better, but with Sunstreaker…

With his brother he could make it through whatever may come.

Hopefully.

They followed the other mech out of the brightly lit washracks into the dimmer hallway, and then towards the grand doors that they’d entered the harem wing through. The guards opened the doors on their approach. It was probably known that they had been… _Summoned._

He was so nervous. He stepped closer to Sunstreaker, clutching onto his arm as their spark fluttered from the anxiety the both of them were feeling, but Sunstreaker’s step remained steady as they walked through the vaulted hallway to a different set of massive doors. There were guards stationed outside of it too, and they nodded at their approach and opened those doors for them too. The twins went to step into the hallway beyond, but… Their new friend wasn’t following.

Sideswipe stopped and turned to look. Their fellow mate had an apologetic look on his face as he gave them a shooing gesture with his servos. “Good luck.”

And that was that. The guards (gently) pushed them the rest of the way in and closed the doors behind them.

Sideswipe could hear the lock engaging.

...Right. So. Here they were, trapped in Megatron’s… Wing of the palace. The hallway wasn’t too dissimilar from what they’d seen in the harem wing, but it was a lot less welcoming. The lights weren’t that good, and the warm browns and oranges were gone from the walls, floors, and ceiling, replaced by greys, black, and accents of purple.

It was bleak and gloomy and Sideswipe’s spark sped up in its rotation. The whole place was so unwelcoming he couldn’t help but be put on edge. It was like danger could’ve lurked behind every corner, even though he knew the only boogeyman present was likely going to be their… Mate.

And he was bad enough. He would’ve preferred a lot of other horrors over Megatron.

Sunstreaker squeezed his servo again, then tugged him back into motion and they began to walk along the hallway. All the doors except the ones at the very end of the hallway were closed, so they headed that way, jumpy and on edge.

But Megatron didn’t pounce on them from any direction and they made it all the way to the next room without disturbances.

It turned out to be a big lounge, furnished in… Somewhat spartan fashion. There was everything you could’ve expected from a lounge, and nothing more. No decorations, no nothing. Which was… A little unexpected after the other portions of the palace they’d had the chance to see.

Much more important than the setup of the room, though, were its occupants. Megatron was sitting on one of the sofas, and Sideswipe could recognize the blue mech standing next to him from the little he’d ever learned of Kaon.

Soundwave, Megatron’s second.

Both mechs glanced at them as they shuffled into the room—or, well, Sideswipe shuffled. Sunstreaker walked in with his usual poise and confidence. “Ah, you’re here,” Megatron said in his flawless standard, and with a wave of his servo dismissed Soundwave, who bowed at him before he walked to the doorway the twins had come through. They shifted out of his way and Soundwave disappeared into the hallway with barely a glance at them.

Then they were alone with their master, and Sideswipe really wished they weren’t.

“Took you long enough,” Megatron continued, rising from his seat but making no move to approach them.

He did pass an _appreciative_ gaze over them though, the kind that made Sideswipe’s plating crawl with the intent behind it.

Lust. “ _Look_ at you,” the tyrant practically purred. Sunstreaker growled, but Megatron went on like neither of them had made any sound, “I made the right choice in picking you, didn’t I?” It was a rhetorical question. They didn’t answer.

Primus, he wasn’t ready for this. 

“What the pit do you want?” Sunstreaker asked in a snarl. Sideswipe hugged closer to him.

Megatron didn’t get angered by the blatant disrespect. If anything he just looked… _Amused._

Like this was funny.

“Oh, I’m sure you know _exactly_ what I want,” their _mate_ rumbled, walking across the room not towards _them,_ but in the opposite direction, to another set of wide doors that opened to him.

There was a berthroom on the other side. Sideswipe’s frame started shaking despite himself. “It’s time for me to break you two _in._ Come here, both of you.” It was an order in both wording and tone.

Tears welled in his optics, and for the longest moment neither twin moved. Sideswipe’s pedes were rooted in by fear, and Sunstreaker… He was probably just being stubborn. Sideswipe was grateful for that. He didn’t want to give Megatron what he wanted.

Megatron wasn’t pleased. His red optics narrowed at them. _“Now.”_

Still they didn’t move. Sunstreaker only straightened his back and _growled,_ and when Sideswipe directed a quick glance at his twin, he could see _challenge_ in Sunstreaker’s optics. 

Megatron saw it too, and decided enough was enough. Sideswipe flinched when the massive mech strode to them with surprising speed and grabbed Sunstreaker by the back of his neck with a servo that made his brother look so small in comparison.

Then he _wrenched_ Sunstreaker away from him. Sideswipe stumbled after them as Megatron bodily dragged Sunstreaker towards the berthroom despite his twin’s struggles. Sunstreaker was growling obscenities, but Megatron ignored him.

Sideswipe made it to the door just when Megatron _threw_ Sunstreaker onto the huge berth at the back of the room. Sunstreaker landed onto its surface with a grunt, and Sideswipe stopped again, his spark fluttering wildly in his chassis. Megatron turned to him as Sunstreaker scrambled to the farthest corner of the berth. Sideswipe could hear his stressed ventilations.

 _“Here,”_ Megatron growled at Sideswipe, but his expression… Wasn’t as severe as Sideswipe had expected it would be.

It was closer to amusement than anger, actually.

This was nothing but a game to Megatron, wasn’t it? Sideswipe’s spark dropped into an inky well of despair at the realization, but how foolish had it ever been to think Megatron would take their resistance seriously? They were physically outmatched and stuck in a situation where Megatron had absolute power and control.

They could fight, but it would be _futile._

Sideswipe wasn’t sure that was reason to stop fighting, though. It was the principle of things.

So instead of taking a step towards Megatron, he took one step back and raised his chin. There was nowhere for him to go and he knew it. He knew that no matter what he did, Megatron would still eventually have his way.

Sideswipe did it anyway.

Megatron’s mouth twitched like he was trying to suppress a smile. Then he spoke no more, only walked towards Sideswipe with that _I own the world_ step. Sideswipe retreated despite himself, unable to quite stay still under the focus of that red gaze. He took step after step backwards until his behind hit the back of one of the couches.

Megatron kept coming.

Sideswipe turned and scrambled over the couch’s back to keep the distance between them.

Megatron circled around the couch, his focus still unwavering on Sideswipe. Sideswipe’s spark flared with every step the tyrant took towards him, and he kept backing away.

But once again he got the feeling Megatron had done this too before. He herded him expertly despite Sideswipe’s best attempts until Sideswipe was trapped in one corner of the room, pressing against the walls like he was trying to phase through them to freedom. Megatron kept approaching.

Sideswipe made one more desperate dash for it, trying to dodge around Megatron before he got too close.

It didn’t work. Megatron’s servo wrapped around his arm and yanked him into a stop, and then it was Sideswipe’s turn to get dragged through the room, his pedes flailing for purchase on the floor.

Sunstreaker had returned to the lounge by then, keeping a wary distance. Megatron ignored him and just hauled Sideswipe into the berthroom. He wasn’t quite thrown onto the berth like Sunstreaker had been, but he was still shoved against it with a considerable amount of force. Sideswipe ended up half sprawled onto its surface on his front, but he wasn’t given a chance to reorient himself before Megatron had tugged him to the edge of the berth, his legs hanging over the edge.

The berth was so high his pedes didn’t even reach the floor.

“Open,” came yet another order, Megatron’s servo cupping his modesty paneling. Sideswipe gasped in one panicked ventilation and tried for purchase to pull himself away, but Megatron landed his other servo onto his back and pressed down with enough force that Sideswipe worried his spine was going to snap. He groaned in discomfort.

“I. Said. _Open._ ”

Insistent claws dug into the seams of his groin, a very clear indication that Megatron was perfectly willing to rip off his brand new valve cover and make him replace it all over again. Sideswipe panted, but definitely not from _arousal,_ trying to think quickly despite the fear that was strangling him and muddling his thoughts. Did he want to lose his panel all over again?

Or stay stubborn and refuse cooperation?

He chose the latter. The panel stayed tightly shut. He tried to close his legs, as impossible as that was with Megatron’s servo between them.

Megatron gave him just a moment to do as he was told, and when he didn’t, those claws sunk into the seams and tore his cover clean off. Sideswipe bit back a scream of pain, his back arching against the heavy servo pressing him down.

“Let the frag _go_ of him!” Then there was Sunstreaker in a flash of shining gold, grabbing onto Megatron’s arm to try to force him away from Sideswipe. 

_Futile,_ Sideswipe thought. Megatron was too strong for them to do much of anything to him. The tyrant proved him right when he let go of Sideswipe’s back enough to backhand Sunstreaker, _hard._ The clash of metal against metal made Sideswipe flinch, and Sunstreaker dropped from the impact. “You’ll get your turn still,” Megatron said, as if Sunstreaker had acted out of impatience or something.

_Futile._

But Sideswipe wasn’t pinned against the berth for a few precious seconds, and he used those to climb onto its surface the rest of the way to try to just crawl away.

He didn’t get far before Megatron had grabbed his legs and pulled him right back to where he’d started, his pedes dangling off the edge of the berth and Megatron’s servo pressing to the back of his helm this time. Again he was trapped, and he barely managed to turn his helm to the side before the pressure Megatron applied completely restricted all motion. Sideswipe yelled in frustration, wriggling this way and that to try to release himself.

It didn’t do him any good. Neither did kicking at Megatron with all the force he could muster; the tyrant just stepped forward until Sideswipe’s legs were pinned between _his_ legs and the berth. It left his aft and bared valve perfectly presented. The click of an interface panel retracting had him still in terror, before he doubled his efforts to escape.

It didn’t work any better than before.

But Megatron didn’t shove into his valve right away like he’d been expecting him to. From the corner of his optic Sideswipe could instead see him stroking his spike, staring down at him with that _lust_ he had hinted at earlier. He made Sideswipe wait tense seconds that stretched and stretched, with Sideswipe’s dread only growing until it reached unbearable heights. The tears that had been blurring his vision for a while now finally fell.

Trapped, helpless. Nowhere to go, and forced to _wait_ for the abuse to start. Was this a part of the game too? It felt like it was.

“Please just get it over with,” he eventually found himself quietly requesting through his tears, hating himself even as he said it, but the sooner it started the sooner it would be _over,_ right?

He just wanted it to be over, to come out on the other side and… Frag, what then? Return to the harem wing to lick their wounds? Their _home,_ as it had been called?

Go there to wait for the next Megatron pleased to have them, knowing there wasn’t a damn thing they could do about it? That they’d just get raped all over again?

_Was this his life now?_

“Asking for it, now?” Megatron rumbled, amusement clear in his voice. Sideswipe closed his optics in defeat.

Yeah, he was asking for it now, wasn’t he?

Then, horribly, blessedly, he could feel the tip of Megatron’s spike press against the entrance to his valve. His rim provided resistance, his valve _too damn small_ for a mech of Megatron’s size, but not like he could do anything about it. A pained, drawn out moan rose in Sideswipe’s throat as Megatron pressed in _slowly,_ first forcing his spike past his rim and stretching it painfully big, and then working his way all the way inside at an agonizingly slow pace that scraped against his walls every inch of the way.

He was really getting flashbacks to Motormaster here.

At least there were still pretty copious amounts of everyone’s transfluid in his valve, providing _some_ lubrication where his valve would’ve otherwise been completely dry.

He wasn’t aroused one bit. Not one bit.

It didn’t matter to Megatron. He made no effort whatsoever to make this pleasant for Sideswipe, just pushed himself in until his entire spike had disappeared into Sideswipe’s body. Then he stopped there for a moment, likely savoring the warmth of the frame cradling his spike.

Sideswipe wanted to throw up. He felt stuffed so full, his valve at capacity and then some from the size of Megatron’s spike.

 _Get used to it,_ Starscream had said. 

He didn’t want to!

He didn’t know whether it was better or worse when Megatron finally started to move in the tight confines of his valve, his pace still leisurely, like he was in no hurry. His spike scraped along Sideswipe’s valve walls despite the transfluid being spread about, and Sideswipe felt more than a little disgusted that Megatron apparently didn’t care he was dirtying his spike with other mecha’s come. The mechs here, they were just… _Sick._

Megatron’s pace increased little by little, and Sideswipe struggled to ride it out. His valve burned, but he grit his denta through the pain and tried to stay quiet. He didn’t want to give Megatron the satisfaction of hearing him in pain—because he was sure Megatron was sadistic enough he would enjoy it—it was enough that he _saw_ him in pain. Because Sideswipe couldn’t prevent the way his optics scrunched shut, nor get rid of the pained grimace he wore.

The tyrant took his pleasure from him without any care for his comfort, thrusting in and pulling out ever faster. His groin slammed into Sideswipe’s aft with clangs of metal, and Sideswipe knew there would be scuffs and paint transfers all over again. No surprise there.

He clung to the berth covering for any kind of support as Megatron started to _really_ go at it, making him worry his whole valve would be torn out. He deliriously wondered if that had ever happened to someone.

Probably, if Megatron treated everyone like this. He and Sunstreaker were built sturdy; that couldn’t possibly apply to everyone Megatron had dragged into his berth.

It hurt. His valve had been abraded to begin with, and now Sideswipe wasn’t sure it wouldn’t tear through all the way no matter how durable he was supposed to be. At least Megatron’s spike didn’t have any untoward modifications. He didn’t know what he would’ve done if there had been some.

This was bad enough.

Sideswipe could feel Megatron’s pace start to stutter though, signaling he was nearing completion. He did that thing again where he pushed in deep and circled his hips, except it was a lot more tolerable when it was his valve it was done to, and not his throat. It still hurt and he couldn’t contain his hiss as his valve protested the further stretch, adding a few more warnings to his HUD.

He dismissed them. He didn’t need the reminders of what was happening to his frame. Feeling it all was bad enough. 

But he was right about Megatron coming close to his climax, because he repeated that deep thrust in and the _circle_ a few more times, his ventilations turning more ragged until on one inward thrust Sideswipe could suddenly feel something warm pulse into his valve. Megatron didn’t push in deep at that, though. He pulled out instead, taking his spike in his servo and jerking it a few times so the rest of the transfluid he expelled landed on Sideswipe’s aft and lower back instead.

He shuddered at the feeling, growling lowly. It would’ve been better up his valve, if it had to go someplace. He didn’t need his frame dirty all over again.

But as was the usual here, he got no say on the matter.

And Megatron didn’t stop there like Sideswipe had hoped and expected. He just buried himself back into Sideswipe’s abused valve and rutted against his aft for another round, and Sideswipe couldn’t keep entirely quiet anymore. He moaned in desperation, his legs again kicking, but he couldn’t get any force behind it.

Megatron still pinned his helm to the berth too, and Sideswipe couldn’t push himself up or drag himself away either.

He could only lay there and take it. It was the worst thing, made all the more unbearable by the knowledge he would be subjected to this same treatment many, many more times if he had understood anything right.

They needed to get out of here. He didn’t know how, but there had to be a way.

He wouldn’t be able to take this forever.

Again Megatron pulled out once he overloaded, more hot transfluid splashing on Sideswipe’s plating. He almost whimpered, catching the sound at the last second by grabbing his lower lip between his denta.

Then? Then Megatron _spiked his valve again,_ and Sideswipe thought he might just go crazy. From the pain, from the force used against him, from the despair suffocating him.

He’d never wanted anything less in his life than he wanted this.

For the third time Megatron’s transfluid landed onto his armor, and Sideswipe braced himself for his valve to be invaded again, except… That didn’t happen.

 _Finally_ it didn’t happen.

But only because Megatron shifted his attention to Sunstreaker. Sunstreaker hadn’t gotten up the whole time, but now as Megatron turned to him, he staggered to his pedes.

Released, Sideswipe pulled himself onto the berth and hurried away from Megatron’s reach. Sunstreaker was also dancing out of Megatron’s way, but his movements were a little uncoordinated, unsteady. Sideswipe could see the sizable dent on the side of his helm.

Megatron had hit him hard. Sunstreaker would recover, he was sure of it, it just… Wouldn’t be soon enough, he feared.

Sunstreaker made it to the berthroom door, but it had closed, and _didn’t_ open when he got closer. Not much of a surprise there.

His brother turned away from it. The berthroom was big and sparsely furnished. There were a lot of directions to go, but few things to hide behind.

And Megatron showed once again that he knew what he was doing and had probably wrangled uncooperative _mates_ many times before. Sunstreaker put up a fight of evasion, but Megatron herded him into a corner just like he’d done to Sideswipe.

Sunstreaker didn’t try to run from that position. Instead he tried to _hit_ Megatron, but the tyrant merely caught his fist in his far larger servo and used his newly found grip to yank Sunstreaker forward and out of balance.

Straight into Megatron’s other, waiting servo, that wrapped tightly around Sunstreaker’s throat. Megatron lifted him off his pedes entirely by that point of contact, and Sideswipe yelled for him to stop.

Their necks couldn’t carry the full weight of their frames.

Sunstreaker was going to get _decapitated._

But Sunstreaker had quick reflexes and managed to bring his servos up to Megatron’s arm in time, his claws digging into the silver plating as he took the weight from his neck and hung onto that arm for dear life.

Megatron held him up without any visible effort and carried him over to the berth, Sunstreaker’s legs kicking at him the whole way. Static came from his vocalizer, rude words crushed by the grip Megatron had on his throat.

He was shoved down on the berth’s edge too, and this time Megatron didn’t toy around. He forced his way between Sunstreaker’s legs, spreading them wide with his bulk. “Will you be as stubborn as your brother?” Megatron asked, his hand finding its way between their frames to Sunstreaker’s crotch.

Sunstreaker growled in answer. Megatron gave him too a moment to change his mind, before ripping off Sunstreaker’s modesty panel and letting it clatter onto the floor. Sunstreaker didn’t make a sound, but his frame jerked.

And then Megatron had already buried himself in Sideswipe’s brother in one swift motion. No games, straight to the point. He gave Sunstreaker no time to adjust before starting to move in and out of his frame at alarming speed.

Sunstreaker kept quiet beyond the stuttering growl of his engine. Sideswipe wasn’t sure if he even could’ve made sound with Megatron still gripping his neck, pressing him down into the berth by it, pinning him in place just like he had pinned Sideswipe.

Sunstreaker was struggling to take it. Even as his twin held onto his defiant growls Sideswipe could feel the pain and humiliation in him.

He was a proud individual, Sunstreaker. He’d always carried himself with confidence, deeply satisfied with everything he was and holding a lot of respect for himself. Some had called him self-centered and arrogant, and maybe he was, but he was also dignified.

Except now he wasn’t. There was no dignity in the way Megatron pinned him down and used his frame no matter the fight he’d tried to put up.

Sideswipe wanted so badly to go help him. And what was stopping him? Fear?

Not a good enough reason.

So Sideswipe acted, and maybe it wasn’t smart, and maybe it was useless, but he got his pedes beneath himself and lunged across the berth to slam into Megatron’s chest and try to knock him off of Sunstreaker.

It didn’t work. Oh, he hit the bigger mech alright, but Megatron barely wavered despite the force of the impact, and Sideswipe bounced off his chassis harmlessly.

Only to have his own throat grabbed too, and yanked down onto the berth’s surface right next to Sunstreaker.

This close he could hear the tiny little hitches in Sunstreaker’s quick and shallow ventilations, and feel the slight tremble in his frame. Pain and emotion were almost too much for even Sunstreaker to contain, and he’d never been that prone to showing anything on the outside.

Sideswipe struggled against Megatron’s grip, allowed more movement than his brother because he didn’t have Megatron between his legs.

Megatron tightened his hold.

He struggled.

Megatron tightened his hold.

He struggled.

Megatron still tightened his hold, and Sideswipe could feel his neck crushing from the force of the tyrant’s grip on him.

He stilled, venting hard, not quite willing to find out just how far Megatron was ready to go to force them into submission.

Megatron was moving his hips again, staring down at the both of them with an expression Sideswipe couldn’t quite name. There was pleasure, but he couldn’t tell what was causing it, if it was just about the interface or something more too. There was lust still, desire. And was that smugness?

He wasn’t sure.

“You _will_ learn your place,” Megatron said with a harsh thrust that made Sunstreaker’s engine stall for a second, his frame rocked on the berth’s surface. Yet he was glaring at Megatron, uncowed.

Sideswipe knew his own look was a lot more fearful. Megatron’s words were a promise and a threat rolled into one, and as much as Sideswipe _hoped…_ He wasn’t sure Megatron wouldn’t succeed eventually.

But damn if he wasn’t going to make him work for it.

Sideswipe bared his denta. Megatron _laughed._ “You _will_ learn to spread your legs and use your mouths for pleasure instead of this... _Disobedience._ “ Even as he said that, there still wasn’t anger, barely even annoyance in his tone. At this point Sideswipe was convinced that Megatron _enjoyed_ and _would enjoy_ the whole process of… Breaking them in, like he’d put it.

How long could they hold on and resist before the hopelessness of the situation finally got to them?

Megatron overloaded, and he did to Sunstreaker the same thing he’d done to Sideswipe, pulling out to jerk most of his load onto Sunstreaker’s crotch and stomach. Sideswipe knew how much Sunstreaker _hated_ when his plating was soiled, and as expected, Sunstreaker’s growls reached an all new height, affront making his field unfurl for just a moment.

Unexpectedly Megatron pulsed his own field, covering them both in _pleasure confidence superiority_ before he drew it back to himself.

Right. At least they knew how Megatron was feeling now.

“Speaking of _mouths_ …” the tyrant started, and Sideswipe’s spark plummeted to somewhere below his primary tank, “Let’s put _yours_ to good use, shall we?” He was looking at Sunstreaker, speaking to Sunstreaker, and his brother stared right back with burning hate, flashing his denta with a snarl.

Megatron smirked and surprisingly, released the both of them. He didn’t step away, but straightened himself to his full height, glancing between them.

One of his optical ridges rose just so. “Unless you want to _squabble_ for the right to service me?”

Sideswipe stilled. Was that… Them getting to choose which of them did it?

He glanced at Sunstreaker, but Sunstreaker was already looking at him, and Sideswipe decided what he wanted to do on that second.

He opened his mouth to say he would do it, just to spare Sunstreaker an experience Sideswipe had already been through once, but Sunstreaker beat him to the punch. “I’ll do it. Just leave him alone,” his twin ground out through clenched denta, and Sideswipe propped himself onto his elbows with a wild look at his twin.

“No! I’ll do it. I already did it once, I can… I can do it again.”

No he couldn’t. In a million years he couldn’t, but if it meant Sunstreaker didn’t have to suffer it, he’d do it anyway.

“Your brother was faster,” Megatron intoned, flicking his digits at Sunstreaker in a come hither motion and backing up just enough to make room for his brother in front of the tyrant. “Onto the floor.”

Sunstreaker was battling himself. Sideswipe could both see and feel the internal struggle, the _‘I don’t want to’_ and _‘like pit will I take orders from you’_ going up against his desire to keep Sideswipe safe—the same desire Sideswipe was feeling but had been denied.

He silently begged for Sunstreaker to look at him. It didn’t have to be this way. They could still switch roles. Maybe. If Megatron let them.

But Sunstreaker didn’t look at him before he was already moving, slipping off the berth and landing onto the floor with a soft thud.

He had to crane his neck to do it, but Sunstreaker still stared up at Megatron, optic to optic like his spark wasn’t feeling even a hint of fear.

Sideswipe knew that to be a lie and a farce, but Sunstreaker was good at hiding his feelings. Always had been. He didn’t let them control him. He acted in spite of them.

Megatron stared back down at him, and the pleasure he took from this power trip was obvious in his optics even if his face was perfectly neutral.

The grey mech was so vastly larger than them that Sunstreaker’s face was level with his crotch and spike when they were both standing. Which was absolutely ridiculous, and Sideswipe hadn’t given enough head to know whether that was a good or a bad thing, or if it made no difference.

For sure he had never performed oral on anyone of Megatron’s size before being dragged to Kaon, and never would have voluntarily either. He was just too _big_ in comparison to them.

Megatron, of course, didn’t give a single fuck about little details like that. He grabbed Sunstreaker by the chin. “Open,” came the order, pretty familiar by now.

Sunstreaker stared at the spike in front of him for a good moment, long enough that Sideswipe could see and feel Megatron tightening his hold on his chin in warning. That was enough prompting that Sunstreaker very hesitantly parted his lips. Megatron instantly stuck his sharp thumb into his mouth, running it around the oral cavity as if he was exploring the space.

Sunstreaker recoiled and tried to pull back, but Megatron kept him in place by his chin and just kept poking around in his mouth.

Until Sunstreaker stopped fighting and just took it, engine snarling quietly. At that point Megatron brought his servo to Sunstreaker’s bottom lip, forcing his mouth open wider–

And his spike found its way to Sunstreaker’s lips _unerringly,_ pushing into his mouth. His brother wasn’t any larger than he was and suffered from the exact same issue he had: Megatron was just too _big._ To even fit that spike into his mouth it had to open wide enough that his faceplates were stressed from the treatment, and that didn’t even account for the havoc it wreaked on the inside.

Again Sunstreaker tried to pull back, just on reflex, but Megatron kept his hold on his chin and wouldn’t let him move one inch. Megatron’s spike hit the back of Sunstreaker’s throat and he gagged just like Sideswipe had.

Megatron transferred his grip to the back of Sunstreaker’s helmet, and his hold was _tight._ Like he was expecting Sunstreaker to fight, and prepared for it. It did give him better control over Sunstreaker’s helm though, letting him push his brother onto his spike.

The angle was wrong for sheathing his spike entirely into Sunstreaker’s throat, but Megatron made good use of Sunstreaker’s mouth despite that. He moved both his hips and Sunstreaker’s helm as he fragged his brother’s mouth. Sunstreaker had grabbed onto the berth behind him at first, but as Megatron’s pace increased, he transferred his servos to Megatron’s thighs instead. Sideswipe could see his claws dig furrows into Megatron’s armor, Sunstreaker’s desperate attempt to ground himself to something, but the tyrant paid it no mind. 

Megatron pushed Sunstreaker back against the berth, almost leaning into the smaller mech as he put some extra _oomph_ behind his thrusts. By now Sunstreaker gagged on every ram into the back of his mouth, but valiantly fought to keep the contents of his tank down. And if he had wanted to fight the treatment… Megatron was holding him in place so thoroughly the most he could’ve done was bite.

And bite Sunstreaker did. It didn’t have the desired reaction though. Instead of getting angry or injured, Megatron made a growl of pleasure and pressed his spike harder into Sunstreaker’s mouth. “That’s it. _Fight me.”_

Sunstreaker didn’t whine. Sideswipe didn’t want to believe the sound his brother made was a whine, but surprisingly Sunstreaker followed that _order,_ struggling against Megatron’s frame despite how thoroughly he was pinned between it and the berth. His servos moved to Megatron’s hips, pushing, but it did nothing. Megatron shoved his hips forward as if Sunstreaker wasn’t even trying to keep him away, and buried his spike as deep as it would go into Sunstreaker’s mouth before unloading once again.

Sunstreaker didn’t know whether to swallow or not, but the transfluid hit so far into the back of his mouth that it was a moot point anyway. It trailed down the back of his intake whether he liked it or not. 

Megatron didn’t waste all of it into Sunstreaker’s mouth though. He pulled out halfway through and jerked the rest of it into Sunstreaker’s face, like he had done every time before that. Sunstreaker tried to turn his helm away, but Megatron kept him in place with his grip.

He _had_ to know how much they both hated that. Which was probably exactly why he did it…

Sunstreaker had gone back to growling, angrily wiping the back of his servo across his face to remove even some of the transfluid trailing down his faceplates.

Megatron looked amused all over again. “Climb onto the berth,” he ordered next, taking half a step back to even give Sunstreaker the room to do so.

But Sunstreaker had had enough of cooperation. Sideswipe could feel his desire to try to slip by Megatron and towards the relative freedom of not being in his immediate reach, but also the acknowledgement that there was no way that would work. He still wasn’t going to do as he was told, though, and stayed stubbornly rooted where he was, making absolutely no move to return onto the berth.

Megatron, once again, gave him a moment to follow the order, before he simply grabbed Sunstreaker around the waist and lifted him back into the berth to more cussing from his brother. Sideswipe hovered just out of Megatron’s reach, wanting to help _somehow,_ but that hadn’t exactly worked out the first time.

What did Megatron want _now,_ though?

He didn’t have to wait for the answer long before Megatron had manhandled a much struggling Sunstreaker onto his front on the berth, his helm facing Megatron’s crotch, arms pinned against his lower back by one of Megatron’s servos.

_This again._

Except this time he _would_ be able to hammer down Sunstreaker’s throat. 

Sideswipe acted before he could think better of it, closing the distance with a leap and scrambling on top of his brother, dislodging Megatron’s hold on him on the same go. Sunstreaker hissed, and Sideswipe could imagine him complaining about the scuffs no doubt created on his finish, but he didn’t actually say anything. “Don’t! I can do it, let me do it,” Sideswipe blurted in a hurry instead, trying to somehow push Megatron just a little further away from Sunstreaker and present himself as the more enticing target.

He almost thought it worked when Megatron’s optics brightened. “Now _there’s_ an idea.”

 _Almost,_ because as soon as Megatron had said that, he reached down to pry Sunstreaker’s mouth open all over again and stuck his spike inside before Sideswipe had even finished registering what was happening. Sunstreaker made a pained, strangled sound when Megatron _hilted_ himself, his twin’s frame jolting under him, but he couldn’t pull back when Megatron simply grabbed his helm to keep him in place.

Sideswipe’s throat ached in sympathy, the memory of the stretch and agony Megatron was still fresh on his mind. He wasn’t given time to do anything though. Megatron grabbed his helm in one massive servo too, and directed him off the berth and to stand next to the tyrant.

He didn’t have the time to really wonder about that either before Megatron had already handed out more orders. “Lick.”

Sunstreaker’s lips were stretched taut over Megatron’s girth. His brother’s optics were closed, tear tracks running from their corners down the seams of his faceplates.

And Sideswipe was supposed to lick—Megatron’s spike, he guessed, and felt more certainty in that assumption when Megatron pulled out just enough to provide access to the base of his spike. When he apparently didn’t move fast enough, Megatron had again used the grip he had on his helm to pull his face right up close Sunstreaker’s—and close to Megatron’s spike on the same go.

“Like _pit_ I will,” Sideswipe growled, anger surging at having to see Sunstreaker like this. Sunstreaker _never_ cried, but here he was, mouth stuffed full when he knew his brother had never liked giving oral in any form. He didn’t want to do a damn thing for the mech that was doing this to him. _Them._ Fragging… Using him for this pleasure like they were nothing more than sex drones.

They had free will, dammit. Likes, dislikes, things they wanted to do and didn’t want to do. They were supposed to have a say in what happened to their frames.

All of that was now being systematically brought down and destroyed right in front of their optics.

Megatron wasn’t having his defiance, only further proving all of his _rights_ were going to be trampled into the gutter dirt in this new life they’d been dragged into. The clawed servo tightened on his helm until his helmet began to _buckle_ under the pressure. Sideswipe ground out a sound of pain as his HUD flashed him with alerts of structural damage and pressure warnings.

And all the while Megatron forced Sunstreaker to stay on his spike.

 _“Lick.”_ Megatron repeated. He didn’t say it, but the missing end of the sentence was hanging in the air: _or else._

How far was Megatron willing to go?

His grip kept tightening. Sideswipe held no illusions that Megatron didn't have the strength to completely crush his helm if he wanted to.

The pain multiplied with every inch. 

Reluctant, _disgusted,_ Sideswipe opened his mouth before his caving helmet had the chance to start pressing down on his processors. The pressure stopped increasing the moment his glossa touched Megatron’s spike, although he didn’t escape a jerk that pressed his face against Sunstreaker’s, and his lips to Megatron’s spike.

Sideswipe shuddered, twice so when Megatron started to move, slowly at first, his spike gliding past Sideswipe’s lips as well as Sunstreaker’s. Sunstreaker moaned, a sound that was nothing more than one of pain, and Sideswipe felt tears running down both of their cheeks.

Megatron tightened his hold again in warning when Sideswipe didn’t immediately get to work, and this time he took the threat and began to… Pleasure Megatron. Megatron fragged Sunstreaker’s mouth, his pace unhurried but every push in _deep,_ making Sunstreaker gag every few moments. Sideswipe tried to ignore it, because if he thought about it there was no way he was going to be able to do _anything_ for Megatron, but he didn’t really want his helm crushed through either.

Would Megatron straight up kill him if it came down to it? Probably.

So Sideswipe licked instead, using both his glossa and lips on Megatron’s spike as it slid back and forth against his mouth. Megatron didn’t tighten his hold again, so he guessed he was doing an alright job of it.

 _The bare minimum,_ if he could help it.

Neither did Megatron let go though, and Sideswipe wasn’t given the room to move his helm any. Megatron kept the both of them still and right where he wanted them, which seemed to be servicing him and providing a warm, wet hole for him to stick his spike into.

They weren’t equipped for his spike though, they just weren’t. Not down under, definitely not up here. Sunstreaker’s frame was rebelling despite his best efforts, and Sideswipe knew from very personal experience that moment when it was just _too much._ After Megatron’s next inward thrust, Sunstreaker’s frame met the limit of what it could tolerate, and the contents of his tanks followed Megatron’s retreat, pushing past the stretch of his lips.

Far from the first time for him either, but that didn’t make it any more pleasant.

It was like Megatron completely ignored that, though. Sideswipe couldn’t do the same and tried to pull back even as Megatron continued to use Sunstreaker’s mouth without a pause.

But the servo on his helm kept him from going anywhere. “Lick,” Megatron growled at him, clear enough that the circumstances just weren’t enough of an excuse to stop as far as the tyrant was concerned.

Sideswipe yelled in frustration when his face was just pressed tighter against Megatron’s crotch with the full expectation that he would just keep going. Sunstreaker still had his optics tightly closed, at this point just trying to _survive_ until Megatron was done with him.

Megatron’s hold on his helmet started to tighten all over again and Sideswipe vented in sharply. Options. What options did he have? Do as he was told or have his whole helm caved in entirely?

As stubborn as he wanted to be, he wasn’t stubborn enough for that.

So he tried to quell his cresting disquiet and… Went back to licking Megatron’s spike, despite the fact it was now covered in the contents of Sunstreaker’s tanks—so mostly _other mecha’s_ transfluid. 

And Megatron didn’t give a damn. Not one flying fuck.

He was nearing his climax though, ventilations turning heavier, his pace more urgent. He thrust in one time and held there, barely leaving Sideswipe room to service the base of his spike. “Swallow,” Megatron said, staring down at Sunstreaker and stuffing his throat full of his spike.

Sunstreaker only growled, but he hadn’t accounted for the vibrations of the sound doing _wonderful_ things to Megatron’s spike. Instead of making a statement, it was only pleasuring him further.

“That works too,” Megatron groaned, humping against Sunstreaker’s face. Sunstreaker shut up in an instant, prompting the tyrant to _chuckle_ at him.

Then he took the last of his pleasure out of Sunstreaker’s mouth and Sideswipe’s additional help, rocking himself into an overload that he mostly landed on Sunstreaker’s face again.

But there was no more spike in Sunstreaker’s mouth, and for that his brother was grateful. There was the terrible stretch, feeling like your throat had enlarged several times its normal size, but the aching emptiness was still better than Megatron’s length. Sideswipe was leaning hard against the berth, still on his own two pedes but with his lower face covered in all manner of fluids all over again. 

Megatron left them there for a moment, going back to the lounge. Sideswipe took that second to press his helm against Sunstreaker’s, wrapping his arm around Sunstreaker’s shoulders.

He wasn’t sure which one of them he was trying to comfort.

There were no words exchanged—nothing either of them could’ve said to make anything better. And then Megatron was back, carrying three cubes of energon. One he placed on his desk, the two others were handed to them.

“Drink. We have a long night ahead of us.”

Sideswipe’s face fell and he felt like his spark promptly abandoned his frame. Sunstreaker looked up next to him, face full of disbelief.

Long night..?

Was this going to _continue?_

Megatron just smirked at them.

“You _will_ learn your place.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forced branding  
> Physical abuse / intentional injuring  
> Coerced "consent” several times over  
> Mind games  
> Valve rape  
> Ejaculating on the body  
> Oral rape + throatfucking/deepthroat  
> Gagging and purging from that  
> Freaking, licking at that mess


	4. Choose Your Fighters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See the end notes for a list of the less pleasant things happening in this chapter!
> 
> This is the last chapter that I already had written, and I have a hell of a lot of schoolwork for this week and school officially starts next week, so I won't have near as much time to write. I'm still hoping to do one chapter per week though, but no promises on that.

It just continued.

They refused to fuel at first. Megatron merely shrugged that off and continued fragging them—he and his damn spike wouldn’t stop _hurting_ them—until they were both running on fumes. They’d barely drank anything on the way to Kaon, and after their arrival it had been almost nonstop _interfacing._ It took its toll on them.

And Sunstreaker didn’t much fancy the thought of being so weak he couldn’t put up even a token of resistance against Megatron.

So they had finally agreed to fuel, downing the ridiculously high quality midgrade distrustfully. But they were exceptionally low on energon. Even if it was drugged, it was _fuel._

It turned out it wasn’t drugged, as far as they could tell anyway. It only provided them with a much needed burst of energy and renewed their will to _fight,_ even if they were fighting the _inevitable._

They didn’t really want to get back into Megatron’s reach after they’d had the moment’s reprieve provided by fueling. So they didn’t. Sunstreaker escaped into the lounge through the surprisingly unlocked door; Sideswipe crawled under the massive berth. Good luck trying to get him back out from under there.

But of course Megatron had his ways to get what he wanted out of them. If he couldn’t force Sideswipe to come out, he could… _Motivate_ him to do so “willingly”. 

Which meant first catching Sunstreaker. He took some pride in lasting a little longer against Megatron than the first time. The lounge provided more options for evasion, because Megatron didn’t climb over objects, he circled around everything.

So all he needed to do was keep something between them at all times.

It worked for a time, but Megatron was depressingly proficient at this particular game. Despite his best efforts, Sunstreaker got herded back into the berthroom, and this time the door definitely locked after Megatron.

The very sparsely furnished berthroom didn’t provide a lot in the way of cover. He was cornered in short order, then dragged back to the berth.

Megatron threw him onto it and Sunstreaker caught himself with his arms. Before he had the time to turn around to face his assailant, Megatron had joined him, pressing his helm against the berth and pulling his hips up before slamming home. Sunstreaker groaned into the bedding as Megatron set up a punishing pace, his hips near denting the plating of Sunstreaker’s aft.

“Your brother can come out,” Megatron growled at him, “or you will remain as the sole recipient of my _attention.”_

He could feel Sideswipe wavering, his desire to protect his brother… Whose desire? The desire of them both, aimed at the other. Clashing.

Sideswipe would stay safe under the berth. Sunstreaker could handle this.

Sideswipe wanted to spare him even some of the abuse, or at least share it with him instead of forcing him to take it all alone.

But he managed to convince his twin to stay under the berth for now.

Megatron just wasn’t done with him, far from it. Before he’d even reached his first overload, he caught Sunstreaker’s arms and yanked them back, putting a painful amount of strain onto his joints and forcing his back to arch well past comfort. All the while he kept slamming into him, hammering now into an area he hadn’t reached previously thanks to the change in posture.

It hurt. Primus, but it fragging _hurt._ Sunstreaker grit his denta and tried to bear the pain silently, but couldn’t quite contain his grunt at a particularly hard thrust.

Megatron transferred his hold of his arms into one servo, trailing the other one along his frame. Sunstreaker’s plating clamped tight and Megatron’s touch left a crawling path behind wherever it went.

Eventually it slipped up along his front until it reached his throat. Megatron wrapped his servo around it, tilting Sunstreaker’s helm back along with the rest of his spine.

And he kept tilting it, forcing his back into a more and more extreme arch, bending him into a shape he wasn’t ever supposed to be in. Sunstreaker didn’t scream even when his frame protested with bursts of agony along his back, components grinding together and stressing against each other, but a low sound of pain still rose in his throat.

Sideswipe couldn’t take it. He scrambled back from under the berth just when one of Sunstreaker’s spinal struts finally gave in to the pressure and fractured with an audible crack.

“I’m out, I’m out, just stop, _please!”_ Sideswipe yelled over Sunstreaker’s howl, but…

Megatron did indeed stop, releasing his throat and arms and shoving him back onto his front. Sunstreaker’s frame barely thanked him for being freed from the unnatural posture. His back still ached with the pain of abused parts, his HUD uselessly listing the damage done.

But at least no further injuries were being inflicted.

Megatron continued to thrust into his valve even as he flicked just one digit at Sideswipe. “Come here.”

Sideswipe didn’t, right away, but when Megatron landed his servo on Sunstreaker’s back, right over the fractured strut, and started to press _down…_

Sunstreaker’s yowl was enough for Sideswipe to rush onto the berth, tears falling along his cheeks.

They were each other’s weakness, weren’t they? Not wanting to see the other suffer, and easily manipulated because of that. Megatron was making full use of it now.

“Lay down on your back. Spread your legs,” were the orders given to Sideswipe, and he followed them with clear hesitation. 

But he followed them all the same. Sunstreaker tried to rise onto his arms to have a better view of what was happening or about to happen, but Megatron shoved him back down and left his servo at his back, a heavy reminder to _stay down._

Stay down and take his spike.

He growled, but he wasn’t in the best position to try for disobedience without risking more severe injuries. And Sideswipe was shackled by the same concern. Sunstreaker was at least able to turn his helm to look at his brother. Sideswipe was staring at Megatron with wide optics, their spark fluttering with fearful anticipation. Trepidation.

It wasn’t pain that was imposed on his brother. Megatron stuck two of his digits into Sideswipe’s gaping valve that easily took them after being stretched so far by Megatron’s spike, but instead of anything painful… He started to _stimulate_ Sideswipe.

Sideswipe went stock still for a moment, before the worst of the shock wore off and he tried to scramble away and close his legs simultaneously.

Megatron pressed harder on Sunstreaker’s back. Sunstreaker ground his denta together.

Sideswipe stopped in his escape, panting like there was no tomorrow. “Please, please stop, I don’t want this..!” _No no no no_ echoed in their spark, but Megatron was just as pitiless in this as he was in everything else. Unable to move away in fear of hurting Sunstreaker, Sideswipe sat there and _cried_ as Megatron proceeded to _pleasure_ him with skill that wasn’t really that lacking. He knew where to touch and how to move his digits to wake up Sideswipe’s frame, and in short order Sideswipe’s ventilations were hitching and he was fighting back his moans. His valve was lubricating, _finally,_ where Megatron’s spike just hadn’t managed it through the simple pain and discomfort it caused.

But here Sideswipe was now, his valve slowly leaking more than just transfluid.

It was like Sideswipe was in trance, unable to tear his optics away from the servo fragging him in all the right ways.

Then it got worse. “Show your spike.” At that Sideswipe’s helm shot up, his overbright optics staring at Megatron.

“ _Please,_ no.” Whatever Megatron’s reasons for wanting to see his spike were, they couldn’t be good, both twins agreed on that instantaneously.

When Sideswipe didn’t obey right away, Sunstreaker could feel that servo pressing against his back again.

Sideswipe cried harder, but shook his helm, over and over and over again.

The pressure increased.

Still Sideswipe refused. “Just frag me, use my mouth, whatever! Please don’t–”

Sunstreaker tried so hard to stay silent, but when the already fractured strut started to break apart entirely under the weight Megatron was applying onto it, he couldn’t contain his hoarse scream. Sideswipe cried out with him, but finally his spike cover snapped back, his spike pressurizing halfway from its sheath. His frame was getting more and more aroused, but Sideswipe tried to fight it back.

It wasn’t really working out for him.

Megatron removed his digits from Sideswipe’s slick valve and wrapped them around his spike instead, perfectly proportional to Sideswipe’s frame, but a dwarf next to Megatron’s.

And Megatron started pumping it. Gently, just the right way to ratchet Sideswipe’s pleasure higher. Sunstreaker could feel _all of it,_ the sensation bleeding from one spark-half to the other.

His frame was responding too. His ventilations turned heavier as heat began to build in his groin. His valve started to lubricate, easing the passage of Megatron’s spike among the straining walls.

He hated it instantly.

Megatron teased Sideswipe’s spike into full pressurization, and then... 

He pulled out of Sunstreaker. His spike abandoned his valve, leaving it horridly empty and struggling to return to anywhere near its original size, but Sunstreaker still vented in relief.

He had no doubt it would be very short lived, but fraggit, he would take it. 

Megatron’s servo remained on his back, keeping him pinned in place, but he moved off to the side. Sunstreaker couldn’t help but puzzle over what he was doing.

His blood froze at what Megatron told Sideswipe next. “Mount him.”

“What?!” they asked at the same time, dawning horror crashing into them from where they’d already thought they were slowly getting used to the treatment—that they’d _seen it all_ already.

Sideswipe’s voice was pitched higher than Sunstreaker had ever heard it before. Sunstreaker struggled against Megatron’s servo, trying to get up and _away_ and escape the whole damn situation and oh Primus not _that–_

But Megatron pressed down on him until he was screaming in pain all over again. Sideswipe was yelling too. “Stop, stop, please! I’ll do it, I’ll do it! Sunny, Sunny please…”

Their spark was full of pleas from one side and the other until it all blurred together into one big mist of _I don’t want to._

Despite his words, Sideswipe didn’t move. Sunstreaker was panting from more than just his fading arousal, Megatron’s servo relentless over his breaking spine. His armor was rendered next to useless in the face of the tyrant’s strength. It was like there was nothing protecting the broken spinal strut, and honestly, as far as Megatron was concerned there probably wasn’t anything in his way.

He could have just easily just ripped their armor off if he pleased. Was this mercy, to still get to keep his plating?

Pain. It made his mind race like crazed turbofoxes, no sense to the desperate thoughts that chased each other in tight circles around that one physical sensation. He couldn’t think straight when Megatron kept _hurting_ him, Sideswipe reluctant, so reluctant.

But his brother’s cooperation would end this.

So, which was worse? Having his back entirely crushed, or getting fucked by his brother?

_Why were those the two choices they had?_

Where had things gone so wrong?

But he wasn’t going to beg to Sideswipe. Fraggit, crush his spine for all he cared, Sunstreaker kept fighting his thoughts all the same every time they whispered _Sideswipe could end this._

_Convince him to end this._

No. Their resistance may have been for naught, but he was _not_ going to give up on it. Megatron and his treatment, he was _never_ going to subject himself to it willingly, he vowed that much to himself. If that meant injuries, so be it.

Megatron was not going to get what he wanted so easily.

As resolute as Sunstreaker was with that thought… His frame protested. It protested _hard,_ flooding his HUD with warnings and alerts, informing him of this and that. Pain radiated all around his body from the central point at his back. Deliriously he wondered how much more it would take to fully compromise his protoform and start crushing his other internals.

And how quickly the damage would reach his spark chamber.

Optics tightly shut and genta ground together, Sunstreaker was too distracted with his quest to _withstand_ to focus on the outside world. It sounded like there were words being exchanged around, someone moving…

Then the pressure was gone all of a sudden. He sucked in one sharp ventilation of spark deep _relief_ a second before a spike was inserted into his valve. He jumped and tried to pull away on reflex, but one of his helm fins was grabbed, pulling his neck into an awkward bend to keep him from completing the motion.

As quick as he could, Sunstreaker took stock of the changes in their predicament. Megatron was holding his fin, and Sideswipe–

_It was Sideswipe’s spike in him._

“Frag you!” Sunstreaker growled at Megatron, glaring at him with all the vile hate he could muster—and oh, there was _a lot,_ despite the short time they’d known the mech for _._ Sideswipe didn’t move, but he became all too aware of his servos resting on his aft, and… His spike. His _brother’s_ spike. Nothing compared to Megatron’s, it didn’t add to the painful ache of his valve, to the damage done before lubricant had added itself into the play.

And with how many times he’d already taken _Megatron’s_ spike, his valve was slow to adjust to a smaller intrusion.

“That is _precisely_ the plan,” Megatron responded with that stupid, all too common retort, hunger in his optics as he looked down at them. Then there was a clang of metal outside his immediate field of view and Sideswipe jolted, jostling his spike deeper into Sunstreaker’s valve. Sunstreaker bit his lip at the feeling.

It wasn’t that he didn’t find his brother attractive. He could acknowledge that Sideswipe was _desirable._ Easy on the optics, nice to look at, _sexy,_ however you wanted to put it.

But as attractive as he found him, he wasn’t _attracted_ to him. He’d never wanted to berth Sideswipe, not once in his life. They kissed, they made out, but that was where their interest ended.

And now he had his brother’s Primus damned spike up his valve, when neither of them wanted it.

Megatron slapped Sideswipe’s aft again, and Sideswipe jerked his hips forward to escape the impact.

Jerked them against Sunstreaker’s aft, rocking him in turn.

“Move,” Megatron said evenly, and Sunstreaker could _feel_ him slip his digits back into Sideswipe’s valve. Sideswipe shivered in response, but didn’t move for the longest moment, before Megatron put his claws to use and struck the inside of Sideswipe’s valve.

_Painfully._

Sideswipe yelped and his hips danced right against Sunstreaker’s aft in his twin’s attempt to evade the claws. It moved his spike inside him, and again Sunstreaker tried to pull away, hissing and growling wordless threats–

But Megatron still had a hold of his fin and yanked his helm as a reminder of that fact. It kept his head down and pulled to the side, stretching his neck cabling in a way that was anything but comfortable—controlled the rest of his frame with the threat of how much more Megatron was capable of.

 _“Move,”_ the order repeated, this time more firmly, and Megatron began to pump his digits in and out of Sideswipe at a pace that was nothing but _rough._

But after all the abuse they’d already been through, it was _pleasure_ compared to the rest.

Sideswipe moaned, and whimpered, and Sunstreaker could feel his twin’s vocalizer and engine hitching from the force of his sobs, no matter how he tried to quiet himself… But he started to move, rocking between Sunstreaker’s valve and Megatron’s digits.

Pleasure was lighting up in him, and Sunstreaker’s frame responded in kind even through the pain in his back. The disgust in their spark doubled, all of the negative coursing in from both of them making their spark swell and shrink at the same time—the helplessness, _so much helplessness;_ their fruitless attempts to try to avoid everything that had been done to them so far; the revulsion towards the things they’d been made to do and _were being made to do;_ the _I don’t want this_ that filled _every second_ of _every moment,_ and still the inevitability of it all.

Given no chance to truly escape, provided with no more options than what Megatron saw fit to grant them, their frames first turned into _dolls_ and then used against them…

He would’ve rather stayed as just a doll over _this._ Having his frame abused against his will, that he could take.

But forced to _participate?_ To _enjoy_ it? To be _turned on_ by it?

Hard limits were being crossed left and right.

And the same that applied to Sideswipe went for Sunstreaker: after all the pain Megatron’s spike had caused, Sideswipe’s was _pleasurable_ in comparison. It wasn’t like he had no sensory nodes in his valve, and no matter how badly those had been mistreated by Megatron, they now responded to the draw and thrust of his brother’s length. He wasn’t being stretched to painful proportions and left feeling like his valve walls were just going to peel off.

Instead there was lubricant slicking the way and a spike that was none too large, and none too small. His calipers began to tighten after a delay, providing a perfectly snug fit for Sideswipe’s spike.

Like they were made for each other. And considering their frame specifications matched almost to the last detail, that was practically the truth.

Didn’t make him want it any more.

But his frame responded no matter how much his mind and spark fought against it all. Even the strain on his neck began to translate into something that just ratcheted his arousal and charge higher as Sideswipe continued rocking.

Sideswipe was moaning in earnest now, unable to keep quiet. Even Sunstreaker struggled, biting his glossa to prevent himself from voicing his pleasure—he didn’t want to give Megatron that satisfaction.

He could feel Sideswipe’s hate towards himself for not being able to do the same.

Sunstreaker didn’t know what to do about that.

Megatron eventually removed his digits from Sideswipe’s valve. Sideswipe stalled a second later, but Sunstreaker’s temporary relief at the lack of movement died a brutal death the moment Sideswipe groaned, a sound that spiraled into a flat out cry.

It wasn’t an altogether pained sound.

Sideswipe’s valve was practically sopping from Megatron’s administrations and the further stimulus of his spike in Sunstreaker’s valve. When Megatron pushed his massive girth in this time… There was the pain from a sore and abraded valve.

But there was barely any of the same friction left that there’d been before, the chafing all but gone.

Instead there was the mind numbing _pleasure_ of having your every node stroked so thoroughly, of your loosened valve being stretched _just right._

Megatron was ruining their frames, forging them anew to what _he_ wanted from them. Their mouths, their valves—if it was too tight for him, this for sure was fixing that issue _entirely._

Hate only burned brighter at that thought, joining his arousal in heating his frame. His face was twisted into a snarl even as he was held in place by Megatron’s warning grip, his frame shaking with _anger._ How many layers of _rape_ was this even, at this point? He didn’t want to be spiked and pleasured by Sideswipe, Sideswipe didn’t want to spike and derive pleasure from him, Sideswipe didn’t want his valve used _or_ pleasured… And all of that was happening at once.

And if Sideswipe had hated himself before, that dam broke now completely. Tears were streaming down his face like rivers composed of sheer pain, his optics locked to the ceiling in an effort to not look at _who_ he was spiking right then. Sunstreaker gasped at the maelstrom of _torment_ that their spark turned into as Sideswipe reached some limit within himself.

As that limit was broken through by Megatron’s decree.

There was apology. So much apology it made Sunstreaker dizzy, kept him from taking immediate notice when Megatron began to move, using Sideswipe’s valve as roughly as he ever had.

And Sideswipe… His frame turned on him entirely, sandwiched between a spike in his valve and his spike in a valve. Sunstreaker could feel the _ecstasy_ rocketing through him even through the sting of his damaged valve.

 _Sunstreaker’s_ valve was just too perfect of a fit.

Megatron had just molded _Sideswipe’s_ valve too well.

He couldn’t deny the effect Sideswipe’s sensations were having on him, either. They flooded their storming spark and made him experience just what Sideswipe was experiencing, drowning him in the same _physical_ rapture.

But it was only physical. As much as it muddled their thoughts, making it hard to think beyond every second of pleasure, it did nothing to erase the feeling of how much they didn’t want this.

Sideswipe didn’t want Megatron’s spike, or Sunstreaker’s valve. Or Sunstreaker’s spike for that matter.

Sunstreaker didn’t want Megatron, or any of the things belonging to Sideswipe.

This wasn’t wrong. He knew most siblings were happy to frag it out with each other. Why not?

But _they_ had never wanted to.

And here and now, that didn’t matter anymore.

Here and now they’d already been through hell of the likes they’d never imagined in their worst nightmares, and it just _kept getting worse._

When were they going to hit rock bottom? How much more could they be degraded before there just wasn’t anything more to do to them?

How the pit were they supposed to survive that far, or make it through the impact of that rocky ground rushing up to meet them?

How was he supposed to stay _sane_ in all this?

Sideswipe wasn’t moving himself anymore, but every hard thrust Megatron made into his valve rocked his frame, emulating thrusts into Sunstreaker’s valve and jolting his frame on the berth’s surface. He could barely even call it Sideswipe fragging him, it was more Megatron fragging the _both_ of them—holding him still with the strain on his neck, and trapping Sideswipe between their frames.

And the pleasure kept building. Sunstreaker closed his optics against it, feeling the _familiar enough_ crest of it all approaching. His fans worked overtime as Sideswipe’s spike continued to pump into his valve, the calipers already tightening out of his control and drawing more moans from his twin.

Sideswipe tried to hold back, but his frame’s march towards climax was relentless under the assault on his privates. His emotions peaked at the same time as his frame did— _disgust hate sorrow hurt shame_ —the first pulse of his brother’s come in his valve sending Sunstreaker over the edge too, if the bloom of completion across their spark wouldn’t have done it already. His back arched despite himself, but even the pain of that wasn’t enough to quell his climax. Overload crashed through him, tightened his cables—Sideswipe’s claws dug into his hips, his valve rippled wantonly. Both their valves did, and Sideswipe’s feelings—shame _shame_ **_shame_** —only multiplied when the erratic clenching of his valve pulled Megatron into completion with them, his transfluid deposited deep into Sideswipe’s valve.

To join all that there already was.

And it just would not end, the pleasure dancing between them and lengthening both of their overloads for what felt like an eternity.

An eternity of bliss and revulsion.

Sideswipe collapsed over him in the aftermath, strutless from the strength of their overload. He moaned weakly when Megatron pulled out of his valve to a veritable flood of transfluid and lubricant.

Shame and sorrow intermingled now that the deed was one. Sideswipe’s shame for having to do this, for having _enjoyed_ it, and their shared sorrow of what they’d been driven into. Their choice, all stripped from them. Their will, what they wanted... Ground into the dirt like it meant _nothing._

A part of Sunstreaker hoped it would finally be over as Sideswipe’s spike slowly depressurized back to its sheath, vacating his valve. In what world was this not enough?

A larger part of him made a well educated guess that Megatron was nowhere near done with them.

_In their world this was not enough._

He wasn’t sure the shock of being dragged into Kaon had even worn off yet. It hadn’t really had the time to do that with everything that had been happening, with all the more reasons for _shock_ they’d been given.

Reality was going to hit them in the face sooner or later, he was pretty sure of that. For now things still felt… Unreal.

Like this was just a nightmare, even though he knew it wasn’t.

His helm fin was released and Sideswipe was pulled off of him, by _Megatron,_ until his brother fell against the tyrant’s chest, still too far from having full control of his frame to protest with anything more than the wounded sound he made. Without his weight, Sunstreaker slowly got his arms under himself and pushed himself to his hands and knees, turning to look at his brother and their tormentor.

His back raved at him for every movement he made, but he didn’t want to just _lay there_ like a dead thing, waiting to be fucked over and over again.

He could feel a mix of fluids seeping out of his valve, and one look at Sideswipe showed his twin’s valve in a similar state. Sideswipe’s optics were still a little far off, but he was moving his frame in small, restless motions, his disquiet with being pulled against Megatron clear as the day for anyone who cared.

Megatron didn’t _care,_ merely trailed a servo over his brother’s frame until he’d tipped his claws into the mess streaming from Sideswipe’s valve, and... 

Brought them back up to shove them into Sideswipe’s lax, unresisting mouth.

Sideswipe didn’t want that. His frame didn’t move, but internally Sunstreaker could feel him recoiling and trying to gain full control over his faculties again, just so he could _stop_ it.

But when had that worked? Sideswipe did indeed gain enough of his movement back to bring a servo to Megatron’s arm, trying to push it _away–_

Megatron responded by shoving his digits deeper until Sideswipe gagged on them.

Sunstreaker growled, but his arms were shaking from both the overload and the simple _pain_ his back was casting into all of his limbs. His frame might’ve been sturdy enough to make up for the broken strut and accompanying damage, still allowing him movement, but that didn’t make it _hurt_ any less.

So there was little he could while Megatron _lazily_ pumped his digits in and out of Sideswipe’s mouth, his gaze passing between them as if he was considering what to do with them next. Sunstreaker didn’t like that look one bit.

Sideswipe gained more coherence, and with it, more fight. He brought his other arm up too, using both of his servos to try to push Megatron’s servo away, and he was putting actual _force_ behind it.

Megatron, true to form, ignored it aside from shoving his digits _deep_ and keeping them there even as Sideswipe gagged again, harder this time.

The harder Sideswipe pushed on that arm, the deeper the digits went, until they were flirting down the passage into his throat and it was a fight and a half for his brother to keep his frame from heaving entirely. That was when Sideswipe finally relented, his arms losing their tension and just… Holding onto Megatron’s even as his tank threatened to rebel from the treatment.

But as soon as he did, Megatron pulled his digits further out, only giving them a pair of shallow pumps before removing them out of Sideswipe’s mouth entirely. Lesson learned, Sideswipe didn’t try to hurry the process up by pushing on Megatron’s arm, fearful that it would’ve just gotten the whole thing to continue.

“To the edge of the berth,” Megatron said suddenly, speaking to the both of them from the looks of it.

Sunstreaker growled. Sideswipe shook his helm in a _no._

No more of this.

At the very least, Megatron didn’t look surprised at their defiance. Had they gotten him to expect they’d struggle against him? That was good; it meant their fight hadn’t gone unnoticed.

Even if it had done them no good whatsoever.

Like he hadn’t any of the previous times, Megatron didn’t let the issue just _pass._ The tyrant pushed Sideswipe off his chest and slipped off the berth, but before Sideswipe could move out of his reach, Megatron had grabbed his ankles and pulled him to the edge, flipping him to his back.

And then Megatron was once again situated between his brother’s thighs. Sideswipe tried to pull away experimentally, but Megatron only grabbed his thigh and put an end to that before it really even began.

“You too, Sunstreaker.”

Both twins started at his name being used. Somehow he hadn’t thought Megatron even _knew_ their designations. He certainly had never asked for them.

But it probably shouldn’t have surprised him that he would have his ways of learning. They had told them to Starscream, at least. Maybe he had passed them along.

Although small compared to everything else, it still felt like a violation, irrational as that might’ve been.

His name used or not, though, Sunstreaker didn’t move to obey. Instead he lifted his lips in a _snarl_ and stayed right where he was—safely out of Megatron’s reach, not about to get grabbed. If Megatron wanted to get a hold of him, he’d need to leave Sideswipe, and then Sideswipe would have his chance to escape.

Except…

With a growl of his own, Megatron _stabbed_ his claws into Sideswipe’s open valve. Sideswipe howled at the simple pain of it as his valve walls were tested nearly to their limit, _nearly puncturing,_ and Sunstreaker suddenly found himself _very_ motivated to get a move on. His back punished him for every movement, but that wasn’t anything compared to what he knew Megatron was capable of doing to Sideswipe.

So he scrambled his way across the berth’s surface to Sideswipe’s side, their spark flaring with an anxious _‘what now?’._

At first it was nothing unusual. Megatron removed his digits from Sideswipe’s quivering valve, only to replace them with his spike instead.

But Sideswipe’s valve was wet and had barely had a moment of reprieve between then and now. The intrusion… Could have been worse, as much as Sunstreaker hated the thought of them getting _used_ to this abuse.

Sideswipe didn’t make a sound, staring sightless at the ceiling as Megatron started moving. Leisurely, like it was an afterthought to whatever he was _really_ thinking about doing. 

Sunstreaker waited tensely, but he didn’t have to do that for long. Megatron just _loved_ ordering them around. “Coax his spike back out.”

Sunstreaker balked at the command and Sideswipe covered his face with his servos to try to stifle the sob. Their spark _screamed_ no more, but Sunstreaker felt stuck.

Do it and suffer, or don’t do it and _suffer._

He stared at his brother, first at his hidden face, then… His optics trailed down his frame until they reached his recessed spike.

Sideswipe didn’t want this.

Sunstreaker didn’t want this.

Who the _fuck_ cared?

* * *

_Coax his spike back out._

It was bad enough when Megatron had done it and forced his frame to experience mind blowing pleasure. He’d used both his valve and spike at the same time before, but… Never like this

Never with a valve that held his spike so perfectly, or with his own valve stuffed as full as it had been.

 _He’d spiked Sunstreaker._ That was just _wrong._ Not in the grand scheme of things, but _between them._ Sunstreaker had never wanted his spike, and he hadn’t wanted Sunstreaker’s valve, and he definitely hadn’t wanted Megatron up _his_ valve at the same time as he was forced to exploit his twin. 

But what choice had he had? Would Megatron have really crushed Sunstreaker under his servo if he hadn’t obeyed? He had little doubts about that.

To protect his brother, he had to hurt him.

In a way. Not _physically;_ Sunstreaker’s frame hadn’t hurt from more than what Megatron had inflicted on him.

But fragging him was assault all the same.

And now Megatron wanted them to continue in that vein.

Was nothing sacred to him? Not their _wills,_ not their _frames,_ not the relationship he had with his twin… It didn’t include _fucking,_ it just didn’t!

Megatron was set on tearing it all down so they’d _learn their place._ What had he said earlier? How long ago had that even been? Time was starting to turn meaningless in the unending torment.

Learn to spread their legs.

Learn to use their mouths.

For _his_ pleasure.

Megatron hadn’t been kidding, had he?

And it had been better when Megatron had focused on just that, on taking his pleasure from their frames without any heed for their comfort.

Now, instead, the way Megatron was moving in and out of his _wet_ valve was lighting up his sensors in most pleasant ways, the still existing sting of valve mesh and calipers pushed past capacity only adding to it. He’d always liked it a little rough.

But he would have never interfaced with someone of Megatron’s size, if he’d had a say in the matter.

He couldn’t believe his frame was even adjusting this damn well to it. 

But he was managing to keep his spike down, at least for now. Except Megatron wanted _Sunstreaker_ to do something about that.

Sideswipe didn’t want to look, his optics closed and his servos over them for good measure. He could still feel Sunstreaker’s distaste of the situation, his calculation of _what his options were._ Sideswipe didn’t want this, and… Sunstreaker didn’t want to force him through it even less than he wanted to do it.

And he _really_ didn’t want to do it.

There was a hiss when Megatron just grabbed his brother by the helm, and Sideswipe shivered when he could feel the proximity between them growing until something was pressed against his spike housing.

No, not just something. _Sunstreaker’s lips,_ forced there by Megatron’s immovable grip on his helm. Then, a growl, coming from Sunstreaker as Megatron began to do to him what he’d done to Sideswipe earlier— _tightening_ his hold until only pain and pressure warnings remained. 

The intent was clear. _Get to work._

Sunstreaker resisted for the longest moment, just his lips pressed against Sideswipe when he very well couldn’t move away no matter how he wanted to. Sideswipe could feel them first pull into a snarl, then into a grimace as the damage on his helmet multiplied.

He held on for longer than Sideswipe had. His _protoform_ was crushing by the time Sunstreaker finally vented heavily, steadying himself before Sideswipe felt his lips wrap around the head of his spike, barely reachable from how unwilling it was to even peep out of its sheath.

Megatron’s grip didn’t go anywhere, but it lightened until it was just _firm_ instead of crushing. He continued to move in and out of Sideswipe’s valve, making it harder and harder to keep his spike from responding as Sunstreaker flicked his glossa over the tip.

Disgust was pouring from the both of them, but what were they but cornered and helpless? Sunstreaker did what he had to to save their health, maybe their entire lives.

“Sideswipe, why don’t you _appreciate_ your brother’s efforts. Open your optics. He’s putting on quite the show.”

Sideswipe cried into his servos as Sunstreaker’s administrations faltered at the words. A squeeze of his helmet was enough to prompt him back into action, but Sideswipe couldn’t bring himself to look like Megatron wanted him to.

The tyrant’s hold on Sunstreaker’s helm kept tightening, though. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

Sunstreaker moaned in pain, the vibrations of the sound doing _things_ to his spike, but Megatron’s threat was clear as day. Sideswipe still heaved several shuddering ventilations before he slowly peeled his servos from his face and opened his optics, staring at the ceiling.

Unable to look down his frame, knowing what he’d see.

Megatron was having none of that. “Optics here.” His grip on Sunstreaker’s helm didn’t relent, and Sideswipe could feel his twin’s growing delirium as his frame was broken bit by bit, the agony of his helm adding to the one already existing in his back.

Sideswipe couldn’t take it. He couldn’t put Sunstreaker through it.

So he looked.

Megatron was staring down at him, gaze intense, _hungry._ At them both really, like this was the best kind of visual entertainment.

Sideswipe’s optics were drawn lower though, and then he could see Sunstreaker, and he _couldn’t look away,_ compelled to witness a disaster he couldn’t escape.

Sunstreaker’s helm was held against his crotch by Megatron, his brother on his hands and knees next to his supine frame. And Sunstreaker… He was doing it, no matter how reluctant he was even visibly, even more so in their spark. Dread of what he would still be made to do once Sideswipe’s spike pressurized...

Sideswipe tried _so hard_ to keep his spike from doing that, but between the stimulation of his valve and his spike tip, it was a battle he was losing steadily. His spike began to push out little by little, but Megatron didn’t let Sunstreaker pull back even a little bit, instead forcing his brother to take the spike directly into his mouth.

Sunstreaker hated it. It didn’t stretch his mouth the way Megatron’s spike had, but Sunstreaker still _hated_ it. Sideswipe could feel his torrent of emotion thundering in their spark, anger rising on top of it all.

But it had no outlet.

And Sideswipe couldn’t ignore the warmth and wetness that encased his emerging spike. Without much warning his spike surged the rest of the way into full pressurization, slipping into Sunstreaker’s throat as deep as it could go. Megatron kept Sunstreaker’s helm in place, his lips pressed solidly to Sideswipe’s crotch.

Sideswipe moaned when Sunstreaker swallowed on reflex, his intake rippling fantastically around his sensitive length. Megatron made a pleased sound too before _letting go_ of Sunstreaker’s helm.

But the moment Sunstreaker tried to pull off his spike, the servo returned with a _tut tut_ and pressed him back down on him. “Service him.”

Sunstreaker’s spark surged with despair at the order and the hated feeling of a spike lodged deep in his mouth. He swallowed again, without meaning to, and this time Sideswipe couldn’t help throwing his helm back as pleasure lighted on his spike, radiating into his valve that rippled around Megatron’s intrusion in return.

Megatron chuckled, his servo resting as a heavy weight on the back of Sunstreaker’s helmet. “Well?” the tyrant drawled, and Sunstreaker panted hard at the thought of what he was told to do.

He didn’t want to do this and Sideswipe didn’t want to receive this. Megatron’s patience ran out first, before Sunstreaker had won or lost his internal battle. The grip on his helm tightened enough to take a good hold of it, and then _Megatron_ began to move Sunstreaker helm, up and down along Sideswipe’s spike.

It was heaven and hell at once. Their spark hurt from the strength of the emotion filling it, the rape it was suffocating them.

But it felt _so good._ Sunstreaker’s glossa danced against his spike despite himself, some desperate attempt to push it out of his mouth even as Megatron made that completely impossible. His throat contracted with every push inward, not quite a gag but a reaction to the intrusion anyway. His denta scraped against his spike just so, not enough to hurt but adding its own edge to the sensations.

And Megatron kept fragging his valve. Sideswipe stared at the ceiling, his vision turning staticky from pleasure as it built, taking him higher with a promise of another spectacular overload. “Optics, Sideswipe,” Megatron reminded him, and with some effort Sideswipe directed them back down.

Watching as Megatron moved Sunstreaker’s helm up and down his spike at an increasing pace. Sunstreaker was crying again. It didn’t matter that Sideswipe’s spike wasn’t anywhere near the size of Megatron’s, Sunstreaker still hated it, the feeling of having his throat opened over and over again, mouth held open by his girth. Drool was running past his lips, wetting his spike and groin—adding to the mess already there, lubricant and transfluid painting his entire crotch.

Seeing Sunstreaker abused like that was enough to stomp down on his arousal, but only for so long. He couldn’t deny his frame and the dual pleasure of having both of his penetrative equipment fragged. His ventilations turned faster, frame heating despite the efforts of his whirring fans.

And Megatron continued until Sideswipe couldn’t take it anymore, his back arching, hips bucking up into Sunstreaker’s mouth to the smallest of groans from his brother. It was all too late, overload hitting him _hard,_ his spike unloading deep into Sunstreaker’s throat, his valve spasming around the impossible stretch that was Megatron’s spike.

“Swallow,” he could dimly hear Megatron order Sunstreaker. Sunstreaker only growled, lengthening his overload with the vibrations sent along his spike. A moan was drawn from him.

Sunstreaker didn’t swallow as told, Sideswipe’s transfluid draining from his mouth and down Sideswipe’s spike. Megatron growled too, yanking Sunstreaker away— _and Sideswipe hated the part of him that missed the warmth of a mouth on his length—_ followed by a clash of metal on metal and a pained grunt from Sunstreaker.

And Sideswipe’s mind escaped to a nevermore place as he tried to just _survive_ the rest of the days Megatron kept them in his quarters.

* * *

A winged frame in black and purple greeted them as they exited Megatron’s wing of the palace. He didn’t know how long it had been, only that it was _too long._ His legs were weak, his valve throbbed and leaked down his legs in a never ending stream of transfluid and lubricant. He was low on energon and charge, and he hurt all over from all the times they’d pushed Megatron too far and felt it on their frames.

Sunstreaker was in an even worse shape, his damaged back arguably the worst of the injuries either of them had suffered. Now his ventilations were quick and shallow, pain his constant companion.

“Hi! I’m Skywarp.” Sideswipe struggled to focus on the present reality at the voice, his optics slow to make sense of what he was looking at.

One of Megatron’s mates, based on the markings on Skywarp’s wing, identical to Starscream’s.

Identical to the ones decorating their backs.

Sideswipe stared at the Seeker blankly, and Skywarp stared back for an awkward moment before the flier rocked on his heels. “Soooo… How’d it go?” he asked, giving their frames a good once over and wincing a little bit at what he saw. “Megatron can get pretty rough with first timers.”

“It went fine,” Sideswipe said numbly. A complete and utter lie, but he didn’t really want to talk about how _not fine_ he felt.

Skywarp just nodded, accepting the answer, although he had to know it was the opposite of truth. But Sideswipe was grateful when he didn’t push.

“Knock Out’s ready to do your repairs,” was all Skywarp said before turning to lead the way to the harem wing. Apparently they were just going to get escorted from place to place. Sideswipe wasn’t sure if it was to keep them from getting _lost,_ or from _escaping._

Or trying to escape, anyway. He didn’t know the palace’s layout at all, and there were guards and servants all over the place. Any escape attempt would’ve been pretty doomed to fail.

And right now… He really didn’t feel up for doing much of anything, nevermind something that would’ve required lucid thinking, planning, and general movement, like trying to escape would have. Exhaustion was bearing down on him, he hurt, and he just wanted to _rest._

Repairs? They were in need of some, so returning to the medbay… He didn’t really _want_ to after what they’d already gone through there too, but it was necessary if they wanted to stop the aches in their frames anytime soon. It was a good idea.

Besides, they’d most likely be put into stasis for the repairs. It wasn’t really… He wouldn’t be conscious enough to _appreciate_ it, not like he would have been in recharge, but it was better than nothing. Maybe they’d get a chance to properly recharge at some point too.

So they followed without a fuss, too tired and beaten to really even put up a fuss anymore—defeated. They’d lost the battle.

But not the _war._ That would continue. Megatron wasn’t going to _break_ them so easily.

Determination built a housing in their spark even as they quietly followed Skywarp into the harem wing and to the medbay. Skywarp filled the silence with some nonsensical prattle about a show he had been watching—or at least it sounded nonsensical to Sideswipe.

Just as likely was that his processors weren’t running fast enough to keep up with the one-sided conversation.

Knock Out had one look at them as they walked into the medbay before shaking his helm. “And here I was hoping you could at least keep your valve covers.” Exasperated? _Amused?_ It sounded like so.

Sideswipe didn’t much appreciate the amusement, and neither did Sunstreaker. Both of them growled at the medic, who ignored the sound and just gestured at two of the medical berths. “Well, hop on and let’s get started. This might take a while.”

Again, it was the smart thing to do. They needed those repairs.

And Knock Out… Didn’t seem like a very nice mech. He was incredibly flippant about everything, about all the straight up _suffering,_ but at least he kept things professional.

It could be worse.

Sideswipe dragged himself to the further berth and let Sunstreaker have the nearest one. They both climbed onto them and laid down like good little mechlings, ready for Knock Out.

Skywarp bid them goodbye before he took his leave. Sideswipe stared at his back until the medbay doors closed after him.

Skywarp was lighthearted, somehow. Sideswipe couldn’t understand how he was able to keep a hold of a spirit like that, but he envied the mech.

Then his attention turned to Knock Out. The medic came to the space between their respective berths, scanning the both of them. He shook his helm again, _sighing._ “He really does make an unfortunate habit of breaking you lot… Ah well, I’d be out of a job if he didn’t.”

There it was again, that… Lack of care. Like it didn’t matter that they got raped and beaten to their limit—like the medic only cared about how it inconvenienced _him._

Somehow Knock Out fit right into the image he’d built of this environment, cruel in his apathy. Just letting everything _happen_ and only fixing the physical signs of it.

Sideswipe couldn’t find it in himself to get angry at him right then, though. His spark was far too raw, still trying to come to terms with his preexisting emotional mess. It was too tired to add anything more to the writhing pile of blackened, battered emotions. He stared at the ceiling instead, letting the medic’s words roll over them as Knock Out listed some of the damage just his scanners were picking up. Sunstreaker’s broken strut and strained back components were obvious, as were the dents on them, their practically _caved in_ helmets, missing valve covers, abraded throat tubing and valve lining, and probably a few broken calipers to go with it all.

He also mentioned something about Sunstreaker’s shoulder joints.

There would probably be a lot more upon physical examination. What had he said before Megatron had summoned them? That he’d need to do full repairs on them at some point, go so far that the wear of street life was erased from their frames?

Now was probably the time he would do that. Sideswipe wondered how long that would take.

How long they would be out for.

“I’ll fuel your frames while you’re under,” Knock Out said, and Sideswipe focused on his words a little better, glancing at the red medic just when he tapped one of his slim claws on the berth next to his helm. Sideswipe took the prompt and turned his helm to the side, giving him access to the medical port at the back of his neck. Knock Out plugged in, went straight for the commands for medical stasis, and then everything was black.

* * *

The first thing Sideswipe did when his systems started to come back to life was _feel._

Did he hurt still? Anywhere? Everywhere?

Only… His throat and valve. They still felt like they’d been abused relentlessly—you know, exactly like had happened.

So that hadn’t been fixed.

But the rest of his frame? There was that slightly detached sensation of parts that hadn’t yet fully integrated with his systems, but that was it. 

He hadn’t even realized how many minor aches he’d acquired over their vorns in Iacon’s gutters. Now all of those were gone, just _gone,_ and his frame felt like it was fresh from an assembly line.

The bigger things were gone too—the dents Megatron had landed on them, all of that swept away like they had never existed in the first place. His helmet was in perfect shape again. The only notices on his HUD were about his throat and valve, otherwise his systems read full soundness. His valve cover was in place too.

And his frame was clean, at least on the outside and around anything Knock Out had worked on.

He turned his helm to the side just when the medic finished ending Sunstreaker’s stasis protocols and watched and felt as consciousness returned to Sunstreaker’s frame too.

The same thing applied to him. No hurts aside from his throat and valve; even his back felt almost like it had never been damaged in the first place. 

“How are you both feeling? Any undue sensations?” Knock Out asked once Sunstreaker too had finished bringing his systems online and opened his optics.

“Almost as good as new,” Sideswipe responded honestly for the both of them.

_Almost._

“What about–?” he tried to continue, but the words didn’t quite come out.

“Oh, your intakes and valves?” Knock Out caught on quickly anyway, like he had answered that question several times before. “Those are only replaceable with Lord Megatron’s _explicit_ permission. Aside from calipers.”

And when Sideswipe checked his alerts again, that turned out to be true enough. While there were notices of his throat _tubing_ and valve _mesh,_ there was nothing about his calipers needing any attention anymore. The thought that Megatron controlled how much those parts hurt or didn’t hurt was pretty depressing, but… What were they going to do about it, really?

All in all he had to admit that Knock Out had done exceptional work with their frames and been _thorough_ as hell.

It had also taken him some time. A little over a full orn in fact, which Sideswipe assumed contained Knock Out’s recharge and other breaks on top of the time spent working on them.

But it was an orn they hadn’t been abused during, even if they hadn’t had the sense to appreciate that.

“Are we free to go?” Sunstreaker asked, something Sideswipe was eager to know as well. He looked at the medic expectantly.

Knock Out smirked. “From my medbay, yes.” He said that as if he was harmlessly _teasing_ them instead of reminding them they’d lost all of their freedom and rights in one fell swoop.

That they weren’t allowed to go where they wanted to anymore. Stuck, although Sideswipe didn’t know the exact limits of their cage. Only the harem wing unless they were told to leave it on Megatron’s bidding, or was there somewhere else they were allowed to go to as well?

He didn’t feel like asking. Instead he swung his legs over the berth’s edge in time with Sunstreaker and they both made their way to the door, Sideswipe still in wonder over how _effortless_ movement felt now compared to the before. 

Had he ever been in this good repair? When he was first activated, maybe.

They were already almost through the doors when Sideswipe turned partially around and, “Um… Thanks for the repairs.” Manners, right?

“It’s so nice to be appreciated. You’re welcome,” Knock Out said with that smirk, and Sideswipe didn’t know him anywhere near well enough to decide how serious or sarcastic the mech was being.

He hastily beat it out of there after that, sighing with some relief as the medbay doors closed behind and left them alone in the hallway, aside from the guards at the door. But they were so still and quiet it was easy to forget about them.

Sunstreaker wrapped him into his arms right away and Sideswipe clung to him, seeking the comfort offered and trying to offer some in return.

The repairs… The state of his frame, it made it even harder to believe that all that happened was _real._

If it wasn't for the ache in his valve and his throat, he probably wouldn’t have believed any of this to be more than a bad dream. The lavish surroundings—nothing but a figment of his imagination.

But he could still feel the ghost sensations of Megatron between his legs, and those of his lips pressing against the tyrant’s groin plating as he was forced to swallow his length to the hilt. That was what clued his resisting mind to the fact it was all _true._

He was tired. Both of them were. Based on their fuel levels Knock Out had topped them both off before bringing them online like he said he would, but their batteries were running low on charge with a few notices prompting them to enter recharge soon.

And… Defragging would probably be a good idea too.

But he didn’t want to leave his twin’s embrace anytime soon.

They stood there, quiet and still for what felt like an eternity, no one but the guards around to see them. Then Sunstreaker carefully pet along his armor and pulled away a little bit. Not going anywhere, just… Making it possible for him to see Sideswipe’s face. “Should we go get some recharge and defrag? Everything will… Probably go better if we’re at our prime.”

Everything. They didn’t know what else there would be still. Megatron was done with them _for now,_ but how long would that last? Would he give attention to his other mates for a change, or was he still zeroed in on them?

Would he break their frames all over again soon? Sideswipe felt that it would be inevitable at some point, because… Because this was their new lot in life. Wet holes for their master to use when and _how_ he pleased, that just _happened_ to be sentient too. 

But he hoped they would get some time before Megatron demanded them again. Just enough to even _try_ to come to terms with everything. That was all he asked.

Were he to voice his request to _Megatron,_ though… He’d probably get a laugh in his face before he was bent over the nearest surface and _reminded of his place._

He didn’t want to accept it all. Beside the feeling of sheer unrealness, there was also _will._ Something that insisted they deserved better than this, that wanted to _demand_ that better. Would they just allow Megatron to treat them however he wished?

Or would they continue to fight?

Would it continue to be futile?

And even if it did… Would they fight anyway?

Sideswipe nodded to Sunstreaker’s suggestion, releasing his hold and pulling away the rest of the way until only their intertwined servos remained as a point of contact. Then they walked along the long hallway, passing the library, the dining hall, the washracks, and the entertainment room—except Sideswipe’s step faltered as they came to its open doorway.

There were mecha just… _Interfacing_ on one of the sumptuous couches. _Five_ of them. Spikes and valves were bared, mouths were in use, and they looked like they genuinely enjoyed it. Noises of pleasure floated in the air.

Again there was that feeling of _not understanding._ It was as if some pieces were missing from the puzzle he was trying to build to compose an image of this place—their new life. Something about the… Perspective. Where the fragging was nothing but torment for them, for others it was… Something else. Something _enjoyable._

Had they not experienced the same they were experiencing right now? Sideswipe couldn’t fathom _wanting_ to interface anytime soon, if _ever,_ not after the pit they had just been put through—and it still felt like it was just a little while ago, another downside of stasis. No memories between then and now to fill the gap in time.

The whole experience of interfacing… Was there anything left to do that hadn’t been soiled already? Megatron had been beyond thorough in fragging them every way he could think of, and he’d had a lot of ideas as far as making it worse and worse for them had went. Sideswipe couldn’t think of anything that wouldn’t just remind him of _when Megatron had done that to them,_ ruining any pleasant experience he might’ve otherwise had.

And the pleasure. That was the worst part, being made to _enjoy_ the abuse. In body at least, never in spark and mind.

It was ruined, all ruined for him. Them.

But here were others, apparently completely oblivious to things like that. But they were all Megatron’s mates, right? They’d all interfaced with him, right?

Were they the odd ones out?

But then… What Skywarp had said. _‘Megatron can get pretty rough with first timers.’_

Was it a suggestion that they weren’t special in the torture they were put through? That _others_ had had the same happen to them too? Maybe even to some of the mecha now happily fragging their processors out?

 _He couldn’t understand it._ He could feel his thoughts stalling and rotating around that one topic, trying so hard to make sense of it, but failing miserably, until his helm _ached_ with the effort of his attempt.

Sunstreaker tugged on his arm, snapping Sideswipe out of his uselessly circling thoughts. He looked back at his brother, and saw… Concern. “I’m fine,” Sideswipe said on reflex, voice small and tight.

Sunstreaker’s lips pulled into a thin line. It wasn’t like they could actually lie to each other.

But Sunstreaker didn’t say anything, just pulled him along until they reached the big doors of the berthroom.

Sideswipe was looking forward to peace and quiet, _pretending_ he was out of Megatron’s reach, but all of his hopes of that were _crushed_ when the doors opened at their proximity.

Because behind the door, in the vast room with its many cots, there was veritable _orgy_ going on.

Before he could look away, he’d already recognized Skywarp, thighs spread wide and moaning wantonly as Starscream pounded into his valve. Starscream had a dildo up _his_ valve, big enough that just seeing it made Sideswipe close his legs tighter.

And around the pair there were several other mates sitting, laying, or standing, watching the _show_ while they stroked their spikes or fingered themselves or each other.

Sideswipe’s thoughts whited out completely, erased with one pass by sheer shock, disbelief and disgust. He’d thought and hoped that he’d only have to worry about interface around Megatron, that he could escape it elsewhere—enjoy downtime in the harem wing if that was what it took to keep him sane.

Instead there was just… This. All of this, mecha fucking each other all over the place, and _he couldn’t understand it._ It made no sense!

His helm started to ache all over again, harder this time. Sunstreaker had been staring at the display with no lesser amount of disturbance, but he recovered first and dragged him away from the doorway and back down the hall the way they’d come in from. Sideswipe stumbled after him, his thoughts too jumbled to do much else.

A single clear thought did come to him after a few more steps, though. “Where are we going?” he asked, optics wide and decidedly _not_ glancing to the side as they passed the entertainment room again. 

“To the library,” came Sunstreaker’s response, and… Yeah, that made sense.

Libraries were quiet and peaceful. What were the chances any of the harem members had decided to frag each other there?

That was the theory anyway. Sideswipe didn’t trust any of his theories anymore though, not after the depravity he’d been forced to witness and participate in from the moment they’d been dragged into Kaon.

This place was _sick,_ absolutely _sick._

And they were stuck in the midst of it all.

He wanted to cry.

Sunstreaker led the way to the library, and lo and behold, it was almost empty. There were exactly two other mecha present, one so enthralled by the book file they were reading that they didn’t glance up when the twins entered. The other, browsing at a console, did glance their way before dismissing them just as quickly.

No interfacing to be found. There were no moans, no metal hitting metal.

Just… Peace and quiet.

They found a couch in the far reaches of the surprisingly large room, tucked away between the massive shelves, and collapsed onto it. Sideswipe curled up against Sunstreaker right away, and… He was shaking. Sideswipe was shaking. He hadn’t even noticed.

But the emotional knot now being assaulted with even _more_ emotions was a pretty good reason to have the shakes, he figured. 

It was hard to make sense of it all. There had been no time to process anything before _more_ and _more_ had been piled on the already painfully high pile.

First… Being taken from Iacon. Their life hadn’t been much, scraping by in the streets without anything but the contents of their subspaces to call their own. Every day you had to wonder _will I get to fuel today,_ and many days the answer was a negative.

Had they been happy? Not really.

Had they been _un_ happy? Also not really.

It was just… Life. They’d always taken it at face value and enjoyed the little moments of bright in what was otherwise a gloom.

Life on the streets was dangerous, they’d always known. Felt it too, a few times. They—the leaders, the general public—liked to paint Iacon as the most desirable city on Cybertron, but from the gutters… It was hard to see that.

Hard to climb out of that predicament. Hard to get back on your feet. They’d been as stuck on the streets just as they were now stuck here; the only difference was that they’d had the entire city to roam as they pleased, fuel levels allowing, whereas now they only had… This.

Their friends might’ve noticed they’d gone missing, but being guttermechs themselves, there was really nothing they could do about it. Guttermecha went missing all the time. The enforcers didn’t bother with lowlifes like them.

They’d just quietly disappear. That had made them easy targets.

He’d hoped that someone would notice they were taken against their will during the long trip to the other side of Cybertron, but they’d had no such luck. Kaon’s corruption ran too deep, an insidious disease he’d never before even really realized existed, spreading its tendrils all across Cybertron. It wasn’t contained just to the citadel that was Kaon itself.

And then they’d arrived, and… Was this really all they’d been brought here for? There hadn’t exactly been much fanfare before they were dragged in front of a few dozen mecha, and it was downhill from there. Just… Raped over and over again. Everyone could have a turn! Enjoy their frames! Ignore their struggles, all the times they’d said _no._

It was hard to think there was any other reason for their abduction, when that was all that had happened. When that was all they’d been _told._ First with the crowd, and then along had come Megatron, and… He wasn’t sure which was worse. The gangrape, or the undivided attention of one of the cruelest mecha they’d ever had the displeasure knowing—contested in that position only by his underlings.

He couldn’t even… _Begin_ to understand what motivated these mecha, why they saw it as acceptable to do what they had. How they could laugh about it while tormenting them, laughing at their pain and resistance. _Sadists,_ the lot of them, taking their pleasure out of their suffering.

The pain in his frame hadn’t at any point compared to the hurt in his spark, least of all now that the only reminders were the aches in the holes they’d used for their pleasure. The extent of the humiliation… Pride shattered into a million pieces and the pieces stomped all over for good measure. They’d been allowed no dignity, degraded with words and actions until they _felt_ like the gutter trash they were. In pain, dripping fluids, banged up… Covered in the signs of their abuse.

What would anyone sensible have even thought of them if they’d seen them right then? Pitied them? Probably. 

He didn’t want anyone’s pity, even if it would’ve been for a good reason.

A little bit of mercy would be nice, though. 

And now what? Megatron had given them a good taste of what they could expect from their future, a-and… Sideswipe wasn’t sure how much more of it he could take, or what would happen when he _couldn’t take it any more._

He curled tighter against Sunstreaker, his brother’s arm hugging around him, pulling him against his side, practically into his lap. At least he wasn’t alone, but he wasn’t sure how long that would help either of them. They were just used as tools to harm their brother—not _physically,_ but the emotional devastation was… Thorough.

And somehow he would need to come to terms with that too, that he and Sunstreaker were likely to be made frag _each other_ in the future too.

Could he learn to… Accept it? He loved his twin, and he’d heard of so many other pairs who enjoyed fragging each other and did it out of free will. Maybe he could too? But it was hard to overcome all the vorns he’d spent _not_ wanting his brother that way, or the fact there was no sexual attraction between them. Absolutely none.

They’d have to create that out of thin air somehow. If they learned that… At least that aspect of their abuse could become tolerable. Maybe even enjoyable. Something to look forward to amidst all the rest.

But how were they ever going to manage that? Neither of them _wanted_ it. That was a hard obstacle to get over. Or around.

And being forced into it anyway didn’t exactly work to make them want it any more. Maybe, _maybe_ if they’d been allowed to approach it at their own pace, they could have achieved that.

But not when they were told to go to town on their twin without any preparation.

_Mount him._

_Move._

_Coax his spike out._

_Service him._

Sideswipe’s tears fell. And a small, traitorous voice whispered at him, that _they could still do that._ In between whatever Megatron wanted from them, they could practice. Take it slow. Build to bigger things little by little.

Frag their brother during their _free time._

Get used to it.

Maybe make it hurt less when they were _ordered_ into it again.

“If you want to,” Sunstreaker said quietly. Sideswipe could feel his reluctance right next to his _own_ reluctance, but…

If it would make things even a little bit better.

“I don’t want to,” Sideswipe whispered back. “But maybe it’d be for the best anyway.”

Sunstreaker made a noncommittal sound, not agreeing, not disagreeing. Just… Not wanting.

Just like Sideswipe didn’t want.

But maybe they could use each other and their love to try to erase even some of the abuse. Repeat those things, but _willingly._ Make them good again. Something to like and enjoy.

Until the next time they were forced into it all against their will.

Was that their plan? Because it _sucked._

Much better would be to just… Get out of here. He just didn’t know _how._ Even if they could make it out of the harem wing, they’d need to get out of the palace after that, and then out of Kaon itself.

And not a lot of things left Kaon. It wasn’t permitted; the borders were closely guarded. As little as they knew about anything with only ever having gotten the most basic education, they knew that much.

No one went into Kaon, no one left Kaon.

And how long could they hide from the very ruler of Kaon in his own city?

It was hard to see a way out. Really hard. Hard to see a scenario that wouldn’t see them getting dragged back into the harem kicking and screaming, no matter how far they might otherwise get in their escape.

And he did _not_ want to find out what Megatron would do to escapees, when even his regular treatment was… Beyond abominable. 

He closed his optics, though that did nothing to stop the tears running down his cheeks. The rumble of Sunstreaker’s engine was familiar and comforting, just… A tiny dot of solace and familiarity in what was otherwise a black sea of despair and pain.

They were so, so stuck. And so helpless. That was the worst part. Not being able to do anything about any of it. They could resist, _did_ resist, and they still got beaten and fucked. So outclassed and outmatched.

Fuck. What were they going to do?

“We should rest,” Sunstreaker murmured, pressing his lips against the top of his helm—same lips that had wrapped around his spike and fragged him to completion.

 _No._ He didn’t want to think about that.

The thought stayed stubbornly anyway. 

“Yeah,” he agreed regardless, because it was true. They weren’t going to make sense of anything without decent charge in their batteries, and appropriately defragged and organized processors—and memory files.

Let their minds catalog everything that had happened, put it into some order… Then look at it again.

Sunstreaker reclined on the couch until he was laying across its length, and Sideswipe settled on top of him until they were chest to chest and he could rest his helm against his brother’s shoulder. Sunstreaker kept an arm around him, a welcome weight along his back.

Tomorrow would be a new day. Hopefully a less painful one.

And they’d find a way out of this yet. One way or another.

They had to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rape, as usual (spike, valve, oral)  
> Lots of coercion / intentionally inflicted injuries  
> Screaming and begging that gets no one nowhere  
> Forced overload/pleasure  
> Forced twincest / mutual non-con


	5. Beautify, Defy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is tame but check the end notes for what manner of fucking happens in this one.

“Here you are! I was looking for you two.”

Sideswipe opened his optics groggily and felt Sunstreaker similarly stir beneath him. Mutual confusion was the first thing to fill their spark, first at the surroundings—grand bookshelves with more book files than they could count fitted on the orderly shelves; the artificial window next to them streaming equally artificial sunlight into the room.

Then at the voice that rang completely unfamiliar but spoke to them as if they knew each other.

But memories flooded back faster than either of them would have liked. Their abduction, rape, introuction to the harem wing, _more rape,_ repairs–

It reminded them just how far Iacon and their life were. This wasn’t their alley, or their friends speaking to them.

Sunstreaker’s optics focused on Knock Out first, but Sideswipe’s were quick to follow. The medic was staring at them, hands on his hips, an amused little quirk to his optical ridges. “Something wrong with your appointed sleeping arrangements?”

Right, they were in the library instead of the berthroom.

Why were they here?

...Right.

“No, no- I mean… Uh. They were just-” Sideswipe started, but didn’t really know how to explain how _impossible_ it had felt to be anywhere near interfacing mecha after… After everything. He really didn’t expect Knock Out to understand.

Knock Out seemed to get what he was trying to say anyways, although his reaction wasn’t exactly _sympathetic._ The medic merely waved his servo through the air in dismissal. “The mates do that all the time, you’ll get used to it. Just keep it out of my medbay.”

Medbay..?

Did Knock Out really think _they_ would want to partake in that stuff?

Sideswipe opened his mouth in offense, but Knock Out continued speaking before he could get a word in. “But that’s not what I’m here for. _I_ am here to handle your _repaints,”_ Knock Out announced proudly, looking like he expected them to be overjoyed at the news.

Crickets.

“Something wrong with our current colors?” Sunstreaker asked after Knock Out’s face had already fallen, but the acknowledgment of anything color related had the medic perking right back up.

Medic, and something of a _body artist_ too, apparently.

“Colors themselves, no. Their application and quality of paints used? Yes.”

Both of the brothers frowned. Knock Out wasn’t necessarily _wrong_ as far as the quality of the paint used on their bodies went. Their commissioners had never been rich to begin with; investing on something as superfluous as _paint_ hadn’t really been a priority.

And then… Touching up on their paint was a necessary step as far as not looking like street rats went, but when you were already struggling to get by, any paint that even halfway matched your existing color was good enough. They’d always gotten lucky enough to not end up with horrendous patches of mismatched colors, but, you know…

It was what it was.

And apparently that wasn’t _good enough_ here, anymore. Come on, just look at their goddamn surroundings! It wouldn’t do if they were looking at all shabby in the lap of luxury, _would it?_

Sideswipe growled. “And what if we don’t _want to?”_

Both Knock Out and Sunstreaker looked at him in surprise, but only Sunstreaker’s look dawned into understanding. Knock Out’s just deepened into confusion. “Why wouldn’t you want to?” he asked, twenty shades of incredulous. 

Yeah, why wouldn’t they want to? _To be difficult,_ that’s why. 

“I’m sure _Megatron_ wants us to look the part,” Sideswipe continued, hating the bitterness in his voice.

He didn’t want to be a bitter mech. He’d always hated those types.

Right then he couldn’t really help it, though. Everything was too fresh, made him too angry.

This time Knock Out caught on too. Once again, he wasn’t very sympathetic. “Oh, don’t be like that.” Sideswipe snarled in earnest, Sunstreaker’s growl vibrating his frame beneath him too, but true to form, Knock Out took no notice whatsoever. “I doubt Lord Megatron even notices what manner of paint you have, and he will mess it up sooner rather than later all the same. This is purely for your own comfort.”

“If he’s just gonna mess it up, what does it matter?” There he went again, being bitter. He couldn’t really say he appreciated the reminders of what had happened and would no doubt happen again, though. Knock Out might not have given a shit, but Sideswipe sort of did. It was _his_ frame and _his_ life on the line.

Once again, Knock Out didn’t really seem to understand. “Don’t you want to look pretty, just for your _own_ sakes?” was his argument, worded as a question. And looking at how Knock Out looked… Probably very expensive paint _gleaming,_ red and silver and white colors more lush than Sideswipe had ever seen… And he wasn’t a mate, Hot Shot had said. Just _the medic._

Did Knock Out look good just for himself? Probably. Who did he have to impress, really? With a job as hands on as his was, it could’ve been forgiven if he had some oil and grease stains on him.

Instead his finish was absolutely _flawless._ Like he took a lot of pride in his appearance. It made him fit right in with their opulent surroundings, but Sideswipe had to wonder which had come first: the _surroundings_ Knock Out was in, or his apparent vanity. Maybe he’d kept himself looking tip top even before he’d gotten his post as the harem’s medic. Sideswipe was pretty sure he hadn’t always been in the position, at the very least.

To Knock Out, looks probably meant a lot, even removed from Megatron.

To Sunstreaker, looks also mattered, except before they hadn’t really had the opportunities to do much about that. They’d done what they had been able to with what was available to them, knowing it was never a lot.

Here and now? With the washracks they’d already seen in their use?

Primus, they could do so much more.

And it was a siren’s call Sunstreaker couldn’t resist. _Just for his own sake._

Beneath Sideswipe, Sunstreaker nodded, and Sideswipe could feel his eagerness even through his own reservations. But… He couldn’t really deny his brother this, knowing how much Sunstreaker wanted to be _proud_ of his own looks. He already looked good. How more beautiful could he be with a proper paint job?

Sideswipe wasn’t as eager, but he still climbed off Sunstreaker, letting his brother sit up before they both got to their pedes. Knock Out clapped his palms together in satisfaction and gestured them along, leading the way from the empty library, through the stretch of hallway, and into the washracks. There were a few other harem members around, showering, tending to their finish, or even relaxing in the oil bath.

Relaxing. That felt a little beyond Sideswipe. He just… Couldn’t get his mind off what he feared the near future would bring for long enough to even chill.

Sunstreaker wasn’t much better, but desperately wanted to distract himself. Sideswipe couldn’t really disagree with that goal.

Any little moment not spent dreading the future would be most welcome.

“Have a shower first and I’ll get everything ready,” Knock Out instructed them before sauntering over to the corner with all of the paints and painting appliances and– Really, Sideswipe didn’t know what most of the stuff there was.

Knock Out _definitely_ seemed to know though.

He drew his optics from the medic and followed Sunstreaker to the closest set of unoccupied showerheads. Again the solvent was warm, a stark contrast to any of the showers they’d had in Iacon.

He would’ve still rather been in Iacon, cold showers or not.

There wasn’t a whole lot to wash after what Knock Out had already cleaned during their repairs, but he could still feel some things dislodged from his internals by the running solvent. They both had a quick scrub down, lingering under the showers for just a little bit longer than strictly necessary to enjoy the warm liquid—but they ran out of excuses to stay eventually, and made their way over to Knock Out after drying up.

Sideswipe could sense Knock Out’s impatience, but the medic didn’t say anything, just proceeded with the whole process they’d apparently agreed to. “I’ll strip your colors first,” Knock Out told a second before he attacked Sunstreaker’s paint. His brother revved in affront, but Knock Out just _shushed_ him and went ahead to quickly and efficiently remove the color from Sunstreaker’s armor. He kept his touches _appropriate_ as he had for the whole of the short duration they’d known him, only doing what he needed to and nothing more than that.

Disquiet still echoed in their spark, but it was more Sunstreaker’s concern over the state of his frame as gold and black were washed away in favor of the bare grey of their armor. They’d been promised a higher quality repaint, but it was hard not to feel a little concerned when you were left with nothing first.

Once Sunstreaker didn’t have a speck of color left on him, Knock Out abandoned him to wait while he did the same to Sideswipe. Sunstreaker waited, awkwardly and feeling more than a little naked, while Sideswipe felt that same alarm as he had, seeing the color fade from him too. Gone were his red, his white and his black, replaced by deathly grey.

...He really felt really nude like this, even if his armor was completely intact and no untoward pieces of machinery were showing anywhere.

Knock Out did a once over around the both of them before he nodded his acceptance at his work. “Primer next.”

Primer next. Like he wasn’t a medic at all, but some sort of body shop worker, Knock Out went on to spread that evenly across their colorless armors with the touch of a true professional. “How are you so good at this stuff anyway?” Sideswipe couldn’t help but ask as Knock Out progressed with his work.

Knock Out’s field pulsed with gratification at the praise. “A personal passion,” he said simply. “I’ve gotten quite a bit of practice in on all the mechs Lord Megatron drags here.”

And… They could’ve gone without that reminder.

Either oblivious or uncaring of their momentary discomfort at the topic briefly brushed, Knock Out went on, “I swear half of you don’t even know how to manage yourselves when you arrive, but I have taken it upon myself to make sure you all learn how to make most of the facilities you have in your use.”

He said it like it was the peak of altruism for him to do that. And to be fair, instructing them about washrack and beauty product usage probably wasn’t part of his job description.

But if no one had told him to do that much, then it likely said something about how much he cared about appearances that he was making sure others kept themselves looking even partway as decent as he did. Because, so far as they’d seen, all of the harem members were in pretty excellent shape as far as they paintjobs and finish went. They had also been told Megatron more or less expected that, but… Yeah, it was probably a little too much to expect everyone would’ve known how to make use of everything available to them here.

It was all still a topic to put Sideswipe in a really surly mood, but Knock Out didn’t take notice of that either, just finished with what he was doing. “Do you use these washracks yourself?” Sunstreaker took it upon himself to ask over Sideswipe’s sullen silence.

“I am allowed to, but I have my own ones in my quarters,” Knock Out shrugged a moment before he stepped back and cast a critical optic down them both.

Sideswipe resisted the urge to try to cover himself up. Not like there was really anything to cover up either, just the _feeling._

But, satisfied with whatever he was seeing, the medic nodded. “Now then! What colors do you want to be?”

The brothers had a pause before they shared a look. Sideswipe… Hadn’t really ever considered switching colors. They could’ve never afforded it anyway, and not like he had hated his colors.

Much the same applied to Sunstreaker.

Although… “We actually get a _say_ in our colors?” Sunstreaker asked sharply, optics shifting back to Knock Out.

The medic didn’t flinch at the tone. “Well, only as long as Lord Megatron doesn’t order otherwise… But so long as you keep your choices within good taste, he never has.”

Why didn’t it surprise them one bit that their colors were only _theirs_ to an extent? What even belonged to _them_ anymore?

Sideswipe couldn’t really think of anything. They’d been shown pretty thoroughly that in this world they belonged to someone else entirely, and their own wants were _void._

Sunstreaker growled, but came to his conclusion first. “I’d like to stay gold and black.”

Were there really any colors Sideswipe would’ve rather been in other than his old ones, either? As quickly as he tried to think about it, there were ones he’d maybe like to try one day, but right now he just wanted that little piece of _home_ with him. Little piece of _him._

“Red, black, and white for me,” he followed on the heels of Sunstreaker’s answer.

“Really? No changes? This is your chance to reinvent yourselves!” Knock Out argued, but turned to the shelves overflowing with paints all the same.

“Don’t really want to _reinvent_ anything,” Sideswipe muttered. Sunstreaker revved in agreement next to him. 

“Suit yourselves. Let’s make those color choices of yours _shine._ Your old paint jobs really were in desperate need of some work.” 

Sideswipe snorted. “We’re guttermecha, what did you expect?”

“Ah. I suspected as much from the state of your systems. Well then, this is quite an upgrade for you!”

“An upgrade?!” Sunstreaker snarled even as Sideswipe stilled in disbelief. His brother rounded in on the medic, who had the good sense to back away. “After all the slag we’ve been through, all the slag you _know_ we’ve been through, and you call this an _upgrade?”_

Knock Out put his servos up in a placating gesture. “I only meant your surroundings. Your life really couldn’t have been that good in the gutters.”

“It was better than this!” Sideswipe exclaimed, drawing both Knock Out and Sunstreaker’s attentions back to himself. It diffused the situation somewhat, as unintended as that side effect was. Although his engine continued to growl in warning, Sunstreaker took a step back and Knock Out relaxed—somewhat.

“If you say so.” Sideswipe wanted so badly to continue arguing on the topic, because there was no way in the _pits_ anyone could possibly think any of this was an improvement to damn _anything_ no matter how lavish the surroundings were–

But Knock Out had already turned to the paints, entirely brushing aside the topic. “Let’s do you first, Sunstreaker. _Gold,_ you say? I’ll put your old color to _shame.”_

And… That was exactly what Knock Out proceeded to do. In a pretty roundabout fashion, because first he picked a deep, rich _brown_ color. “I said _gold,”_ Sunstreaker repeated, more than a little alarmed when Knock Out aimed that color at him.

He even took a step back, he was that intent on not getting miscolored. Sideswipe couldn’t help his snicker, even through his own confusion over how Knock Out could misunderstand simple instructions.

“We’ll get you to gold, trust me. But _this,_ first.” The medic arched one of his optical ridges and wiggled the can at Sunstreaker.

After a long, tense moment Sunstreaker finally stepped back within reach.

“Do you want your old color placement as well?” Knock Out still asked, and when Sunstreaker nodded an affirmative, he set to work.

First came the _brown._ Knock Out coated all of the supposedly to-be gold armor plates in it even as Sunstreaker stood there tensely, only comforted by the thought that if this all went horribly wrong, the color could be stripped again. As much as Knock Out had asked for that bit of trust, neither twin was really ready to give it yet—no matter how the medic gave the impression he knew exactly what he was doing. 

After the brown… Came a _darker_ brown. “Just what the pit are you doing?” Sunstreaker asked as they both stared at the medic in simple confusion.

Knock Out just looked _smug._ “You’ll see.”

And ahead he went with applying the darker brown onto the lighter brown, although Sideswipe noticed that he didn’t apply it evenly anymore. Rather he just brushed it onto select locations, blending it in with the underlying layer for carefully applied gradients, that…

It honestly added a lot of depth to the color. Sunstreaker, as an artist, could appreciate that, and Sideswipe felt Sunstreaker’s suspicion changing breeds.

That suspicion was further nurtured when Knock Out _then_ picked up a paint that was actually gold. He painted that on top of the browns, blending it into the existing color layers at the edges even as he made it the dominant color.

And the end result dawned in front of their optics. Where Sunstreaker _had_ been painted in a flat shade of yellow-orange that approximated gold, his color now was _alive_ like his plating was still molten. He didn’t need to rely on light and shadow to play on his armor to bring out his color. The careful blending and layering Knock Out had done had integrated light and shadow into his very paint job, accentuating his features and his color until he looked like a living avatar of–

Primus, he really needed to stop staring. Sunstreaker needed to stop staring.

Sunstreaker needed to stop loving his new look so much.

Knock Out noticed their wonder and their admiration, and he looked more self-satisfied than Sideswipe had ever seen anyone look before.

In all fairness, it took Sideswipe a good amount of time to pick his jaw from the floor as Knock Out finished applying the gold.

 _And he wasn’t done even then._ Next came a bright yellow, near white, and Sideswipe thought he might just die from the gleam it added to Sunstreaker when Knock Out applied just bare hints of it in select spots. 

And that wasn’t even saying anything about the paints themselves! Color selection aside the very substance screamed _splendor._ Without a sealant, without a buffing it already _glowed._

Sunstreaker had never looked better, and pits, Sideswipe hadn’t believed anyone could ever look as good as his brother did just then. Sunstreaker couldn’t tear his optics off himself, and Sideswipe found himself struggling with the same thing.

He suspected they’d both spend a lot of time staring at Sunstreaker a long while still. Was there even any getting used to the manner of grandeur Sunstreaker had just gotten dressed in, just from a few brush strokes from a knowledgeable individual?

A “passion”, Knock Out had called it, but fucking hell, Sideswipe was sure most _professionals_ couldn’t have done what Knock Out did. Though what did he know, not like he’d ever had the chance to go to any professionals.

He _did_ know he’d never seen _anyone_ walking around looking like a flaming star trapped in a metal casing.

“Satisfactory?” Knock Out asked with a demure smile— _so fake_ —and Sunstreaker couldn’t find the words. Neither could Sideswipe for that matter.

So they both just nodded mutely.

Knock Out’s smile blossomed into a full grin and he turned back to the paints. “Next, _black.”_

He didn’t get too fancy with the black, just applied a deep, shiny shade of it onto all the parts that had worn the color before too. But somehow the simplicity of that only brought out the utter glow of the brighter, more domineering gold, adding contrast between the two colors.

Like the shining sun against a starless, blackest night sky. It should’ve been a physical impossibility, but here Sunstreaker was, the very embodiment of that.

It made Sideswipe long to see it in the true sky, but even if he did, could it compare to _this?_

“Well, how do you like it?” Knock Out asked, looking Sunstreaker’s frame up and down with that endlessly self-satisfied expression.

He’d earned it, if you asked Sideswipe.

“You turned him into a goddess walking among mere mortals,” Sideswipe responded honestly, digits twitching with the desire to touch. But how could he touch a masterpiece like Sunstreaker in fear of doing anything to ruin it?

_Megatron would ruin it._

He didn’t want to entertain that thought, but it became an impossibility after Knock Out said, “One more thing,” and turned his attention to Sunstreaker’s back.

And the brand.

Just like they’d seen on Hot Shot, he carefully painted the flaw on Sunstreaker’s plating until it stood out just so from the otherwise uninterrupted, glistening gold. 

Sideswipe really could’ve gone without these reminders of where they were and what for.

Reminders of everything that had happened, and would still happen.

But he tried to shake all that off and… Focus on just the present, like he had been doing. Allow himself to become distracted by Knock Out’s impeccable work. 

Knock Out still applied sealant over Sunstreaker’s new paint job before he called it done and stepped to the side to allow them to gawk some more. “Thank you,” Sunstreaker said, and by the Thirteen Sideswipe wasn’t sure if Sunstreaker had ever thanked anyone that genuinely before.

Sunstreaker was a little vain himself, and Sideswipe thought he might’ve just found a kindred spirit.

And maybe now Sunstreaker could unleash on himself all the self-care he’d always wanted, but that they hadn’t had the option for. He could keep himself as shining as he was now, with everything freshly applied. And clean. They wouldn’t have to worry about the gutters’ grime soiling their frames anymore.

_He would’ve still rather taken the gutters over this._

But they didn’t have the _choice,_ so until they figured out how to get the frag out of this mess…

They’d get out still, but why not enjoy the little things in the meantime?

“You’re welcome,” Knock Out said before turning to Sideswipe. “Your turn. Let’s see if I can’t _dazzle_ you like I dazzled your brother.”

This time they didn’t question it when Knock Out first picked out a deep purple. Sideswipe could already feel Sunstreaker’s expectation of where this was going to go, now that they knew something about Knock Out’s tricks.

So first all of his armor bits that had been red were now painted over in purple, and as he had done with Sunstreaker, the next color applied was a deeper _violet._ Sideswipe watched as just certain bits of his features were brought into the shadow of that color, accentuating the lighter areas.

He would’ve looked better than ever with just that bit of work, but he’d said he’d wanted red, and by Primus but Knock Out delivered _red._ It was the next color he picked out and began to apply it with the same blending he’d performed on Sunstreaker, but Sideswipe noticed he also left the layer pretty… Thin.

He was becoming red, there was no question about that, but when his freshly painted armor caught light… The red was tinting towards purple.

Knock Out did another pass, making the red a little thicker at certain places, and Sideswipe could only stare in awe as his formerly blank red was transformed into a real work of art. The last color that came was _pink,_ just little touches of it as highlights.

What did he look like in the end?

A _jewel._ His red was never just red, but a thing of light and shadow and color that made his plating look _lush_ like never before. He didn’t even know how to describe the sheer extravagance of his new color, from the rich red to the near black—the _depth_ in it.

Sunstreaker might’ve been a star of the highest heavens, but Sideswipe became a precious stone born in deep reaches.

“I take it you like it?” Knock Out asked with a grin, watching Sideswipe ogle himself. 

“What kind of witchcraft do you practice?” Sideswipe asked a little breathlessly as he turned this way and that to catch all angles of himself from the mirrors and watch the play of light on his plating.

He was dazzling now. Just like Sunstreaker

“No witchcraft, just years of practice and some natural _talent,”_ Knock Out smirked before he brought out _black._ “Now, let’s continue.”

He first applied dark purple on all of his black areas too, before he went over it all with true black. Unlike Sunstreaker’s obsidian that provided just the perfect contrast with his gold, Sideswipe’s black was made to edge towards purple, _complementing_ his red. 

The results were as out of this world as Sunstreaker’s.

And then was the turn for his white. Knock Out pulled no punches with that either. Purple and pink peeked through the later applied white just enough that he _shimmered,_ and none of his colors clashed. There was no denying red was red, black was black, and white was white, but the hues, tones, _whatever they were,_ they all suggested in the same direction.

It brought everything together and made his paintjob so much more lively than it had ever been before.

Even if they had gone to a professional bodyshop, could they have come out looking like this? How many anywhere on Cybertron had Knock Out’s level of skill, or the _interest_ to go as far as he did? It was probably more of the latter, actually. A paintjob like this, it was just… Over the top. He could only imagine how difficult it would be to maintain too. How many would really see it as appropriate and not a neon sign that screamed ‘mug me’?

But everything around them was over the top now. They fit right in.

He felt he should’ve been more upset at the thought, but the wonder overrode everything else for the time being.

He couldn’t stop staring at his reflection.

He couldn’t stop staring at Sunstreaker.

They looked damn well ethereal, and he really… He knew they’d always looked _good,_ their features beautiful, their frames conforming to objective standards for what was attractive. 

But what they had looked like before was absolutely _shabby_ in comparison to what Knock Out’s work brought out of them. They were beyond gorgeous now, all the best of them brought out and laid there for everyone to see—more eye-catching than he had ever thought possible.

Primus, he wasn’t a vain mech, he really wasn’t, but that didn’t mean he didn’t like looking pretty.

And he looked so pretty. 

As did Sunstreaker. 

They both did.

Tears came to his optics despite himself and Sideswipe buried his face into his palms as his engine hitched. Sunstreaker didn’t dare touch him physically lest he ruin Knock Out’s work, but their spark swelled with the emotion of them both. Awe, wonder, a little joy, pride.

That last one was mostly Sunstreaker’s.

And Sideswipe’s tears came just a little more numerous knowing Sunstreaker had reason to be proud of his looks like never before. 

“Now now, it’s not worth crying over,” Knock Out said, but Sideswipe could hear the grin in his voice, as well as the pleasure over work well received. Knock Out’s field was a steady thing of that emotion, and Sideswipe really couldn’t blame him for it. “Let’s seal that in, then we can polish you two.”

“‘Kay,” Sideswipe mumbled, but first–

Another ugly reminder of the situation they were in when Knock Out, before the sealant, painted in his brand too. Sideswipe didn’t want to look in the mirrors to see what it looked like. It would’ve been better if it stood out like a sore wound, not this… _Subtle,_ in a manner that made it look _intentional_ in every way.

That was what it was, wasn’t it? Intentional. A mark of their standing, one _Knock Out_ didn’t have.

It had never been outright stated, but Sideswipe could only guess it belonged only to Megatron’s _mates._

Knock Out sealed the brand’s new color in with the rest of it. Sideswipe tried to not think about it too much, and Sunstreaker made sure to not show him his back either, knowing what was there too.

A little denial, yeah? Let them enjoy this before everything went to hell again.

Because he was real damn sure things _would_ go to hell all over again.

“Alright, that should do it,” Knock Out said once it was all done, casting one more critical glance at his work on the both of them before he nodded. Up to par, then. “Let’s shine you two up.”

Weren’t they shiny enough already? But no, despite the shimmer of their armors, Knock Out ushered them to the shelves of all manner of polishing supplies, and shined up they were. They got a crash course into what did what, too, and it became more and more apparent that Knock Out wasn’t just a skilled medic, but one hell of a body artist. 

If you asked Sideswipe, there were a lot more interesting things than the order you were supposed to use the products and supplies in and how to use them for the greatest effect, but Sunstreaker was _enraptured._ Which was honestly pretty cute, and Sideswipe had to cover up his giggles more than once. There were a lot of questions too, but instead of being annoyed at the barrage, Knock Out seemed to enjoy having found someone who was turning out to be passionate about the same things he was.

And Sideswipe tried to pay attention, he really did, but it was just so _dull._ Besides, if Sunstreaker figured it all out, then that was the both of them covered already, so not like he needed to put in all the effort to understand every last bit. They could just sync their memory files later and he could integrate all the stuff Sunstreaker had learned and that would be that.

He did still follow all of the instructions when Knock Out made them do some things for themselves, or help each other out when they couldn’t reach something.

Sideswipe was sure it took them far longer to have the full routine completed than what it would’ve taken if Knock Out had just done it on them, but the medic seemed to take their ability to perform it on their own very seriously. Was it because he didn’t want to help them again, or just because he thought it was important enough that everyone should know how to do it? Somehow Sideswipe got the feeling it might just be the latter. Knock Out definitely seemed vain enough that he might just extend that expectation to others.

It worked in his favor that Sunstreaker was starting to head down the same path. Now that he had the option to go all out on his looks, he was absolutely _reveling_ in it. 

Even despite… The surrounding circumstances.

But it was a good distraction if nothing else. Sideswipe tried to let it sweep him away too. Focus on the moment, forget about the rest for a minute.

Yet all too soon they were done. Completely done—painted to a master’s degree and shined to a ridiculous extent. 

They _glowed._

“Thank you, Knock Out,” Sunstreaker said before Sideswipe had even finished picking his jaw off the floor. And he had thought they looked good freshly painted… Pssh.

Look at them now. And to think they were nothing but guttermecha. It was a life they’d likely just return to after they’d escaped this place. They might never again look like this.

But the memories would last and he’d always look back at this with nothing but marvel.

“You’re very welcome. Some of my best work, if I do say so myself. You two make excellent canvases.” Was that a compliment on their looks? Sideswipe grinned, because yeah, their hard features weren’t that bad, were they? From their armors to their facial markings, the things that didn’t change as easily as plain color had always looked just fine.

Now though, with what Knock Out had done to them, all of that was just emphasized. If they’d been _somewhat_ striking with their beauty before, now they were sure to draw _all_ optics on themselves just by existing.

And Sunstreaker carried himself just a little bit straighter.

“Yeah, thanks. Frag if I knew paint could even look this good,” Sideswipe said too, to which Knock Out smiled all _knowing_ like. 

Like he’d gotten that sentiment before. And if he’d painted other newcomers, he probably had.

“I’m a miracle worker, I know. Now, why don’t you go grab some energon and show yourselves off a little? Something like this deserves some _admiration,_ doesn’t it?”

Sideswipe laughed, but he couldn’t wholly disagree with that. Knock Out’s motivations were probably to just have _his_ work shown off, but it was on _their_ frames, which meant they were the ones getting the attention even if the thanks went to Knock Out.

And Sideswipe had always liked attention.

Pits, though, if he’d set up with his little table and cards looking like _this…_ He had no fragging clue what would’ve even happened. Probably he’d have had an easier time with his tricks at least, his looks just distracting the audience too much for them to pay attention to what his servos were doing.

But it would probably end up with him mugged. He looked like a damn wealthy target right now, that was for sure.

Even if they still had next to nothing to their names. Just their surroundings had changed, and their outward appearance with it. It was like the glory of the palace was contagious, and had now stuck on their shells.

But inside it was still all the same. No… _Worse_ than what it had been before. It didn’t matter how pretty the palace, how pretty _they_ were, they’d still gotten raped too many times over for him to even keep count.

Looking better than ever didn’t erase that, and he was sure as pit it wouldn’t protect them either. If anything, it just made them bigger, more appealing targets, although at least everything suggested they’d only have to worry about _Megatron,_ and not about his cronies anymore. 

That was still bad enough though.

It was so fucking bad enough.

And no matter how he tried to fight those thoughts, they kept coming back. How could they even stay away with their whole current _situation?_ They were running on borrowed time as far as not being forced into Megatron’s berth again went. 

He didn’t really have an appetite, but… Everything would probably be even worse if he wasn’t running on full reserves.

So he nodded to Knock Out’s suggestion. Refuel and show themselves off. He could do that.

And Sunstreaker was downright eager to do it. The latter bit anyway.

Yeah, it’d be nice to see everyone’s reactions, wouldn’t it? Especially those who had already seen them, before Knock Out’s rework of their paint jobs. They could appreciate the before and after.

“Thanks again,” he said in parting before he and Sunstreaker exited the washracks.

 _Starscream_ strode towards them the moment they set a pede outside the doors. “Knock Out is done with you? Good. Here.” Brusque, a datachip was shoved at them and Sunstreaker took it reflexively. “Kaonite language files. No one wants to speak _standard_ around you forever.” He said that like it was a dirty word, and maybe it was, with how closed off Kaon was according to the little education they had. It didn’t exactly give the impression Kaon was at all welcoming towards the outside world.

Why a Vosian Seeker would think the same way was a mystery, though. 

They stared at the datachip Sunstreaker had gotten a little too long, prompting Starscream to speak up with an impatient, _“Well?”_

That probably meant they weren’t supposed to install the files when it suited them, but _right now_ instead. Sideswipe glanced at Sunstreaker and Sunstreaker glanced at Sideswipe, before Sunstreaker shrugged and inserted the datachip into the port on his wrist. A security scan proved its contents to be harmless and nothing that it didn’t say it to be on the tin, and Sunstreaker proceeded to download and install them before ejecting the chip and handing it to Sideswipe for him to do the same.

Sideswipe gave the chip back to Starscream afterwards, who nodded at them. “Integrate those quickly, you’ll need them. I suggest the library.”

And once again the Seeker took off without further fanfare, striding down the corridor and leaving them to stare after him.

Sideswipe prodded at the new files in the quiet after the flier’s departure. They were… Really thorough. They probably wouldn’t be left wanting after they’d integrated even half of them; the other half just seemed to be some fancy words he didn’t even have the translations for.

The hallway wasn’t seeing a lot of activity right then, but one mate passed them with a grinned, “Looking good there!” in Kaonite that immediately put their new files to use, and Sideswipe was reminded of their assigned task. Go to the dining hall and show themselves off while getting some energon.

He glanced down at his frame and was once again struck by the new glory of his paint job.

Primus, that would take a while to get used to.

“Shall we?” Sunstreaker asked, focusing back on the present from his own familiarization with their new downloads. It was a novelty to even _have_ new downloads. They definitely hadn’t been able to afford any that didn’t come free from the datanet.

And you couldn’t ever trust those would even be safe to install.

“Yeah,” Sideswipe nodded, and together they continued down the empty hallway. There was only one other mate to see them, standing at the doors to the berthroom. He raised his voice to address them with a cheerful, “Knock Out got his hands on you, eh?” followed by a laugh and a double thumbs up.

So far so good. Sideswipe didn’t manage all the way a _grin,_ but a smile pulled at his mouth despite himself. 

Then they came to the dining hall door. There were a few mates scattered about, one bigger group and a couple of smaller ones, as well as a pair of loners. Optics briefly glanced their way as they entered, then did a double-take.

This time Sideswipe outright grinned at the chorus of approval that rose around the room. The overarching sentiment was that Knock Out had done excellent work once again, and that the results spoke for themselves—that they looked _good._

He’d known that already, but the affirmation was pretty nice all the same. 

Conversation broke out about Knock Out’s skillset and the makeover he’d given to all of them, from what Sideswipe was able to make out of it without eavesdropping too much, and from the slower pace of understanding that came from having to search his new files for every other word. Starscream hadn’t been kidding when he said they’d need the installs. Everyone seemed to speak Kaonite by default, even though most of them couldn’t have been natives.

But they were in Kaon, so. It made _some_ sense.

He and Sunstreaker walked past the tables and to the energon dispenser to grab themselves a little something to top off their already beyond decent fuel levels, and… Honestly, he couldn’t remember the last time he was this well fueled.

It was a nice feeling, as much as he _hated_ the underlying reasons for it.

Only problem with that plan was that the energon dispenser was really, really _fancy._ There were more screens and buttons and flavors and options than either of them had ever seen, and definitely more than they knew what to do with. 

That button probably created the cubes themselves, and it looked like that scale was for the warmth of the energon, and those seemed to be the list of flavors to choose from and… Combine even?

This thing really needed some better instructions, seriously.

They were still staring at the whole apparatus a little helplessly when a field burst out behind them to alert them to another’s approach. When they turned to look, a solidly built black and red mech came to them, masked and visored. He made up for the lack of expression with his field though, flaring it in friendly greeting. “I can help you with that. It’s kinda daunting the first time, isn’t it? Heh, or maybe the first few times even. But don’t worry, you’ll get the hang of it quick.”

Coming in Kaonite, it took Sideswipe a moment to understand what was being said, but the mech waited patiently until he was able to formulate an answer in the same language. “Yeah, uh, that’d be appreciated,” Sideswipe smiled back after a moment’s delay. He and Sunstreaker shuffled to the sides to give their new instructor room.

“You start here, choose the grade and the size, like this,” the black mech started, pressing the buttons with familiarity and walking them through the whole, depressingly long process. Sideswipe was sure it would become easy enough eventually, but he really didn’t want to be here long enough to figure it out.

Everyone treated them like they would be here for a while, though. Like they were here to _stay._

Like pits they were! They’d fragging well figure out a way to get out.

But first it would be helpful if they were left alone for a second that they could spend exploring their options. As it was, it felt like someone constantly had something to say to them or _do_ to them or _have_ them do.

“...And that’s that,” their instructor finished, pulling out his cube and raising it at them. “I’m Runabout, by the way. You’re Sideswipe,” he pointed at the red twin, “and Sunstreaker,” he pointed at the gold twin, “right?”

“Right,” Sideswipe confirmed with a small smile.

“Hah, got it right! Your colors give you off, Sunstreaker. Real nice paint jobs by the way.”

“Thank you,” Sunstreaker said, preening under the attention. Sideswipe snickered, and Runabout’s field burst with amusement too.

“It sometimes feels like Knock Out knows all the tricks of the trade, eh? Well, haven’t yet run into anyone who would’ve complained about it,” the black mech shrugged. “You’re twins too, aren’t you? Split-spark? Your spark signature...s? Kinda give you off.”

Sunstreaker huffed and Sideswipe’s lips pulled into a full on crooked smile. “Yeah, it does that.” It was Runabout’s turn to laugh.

“Must be nice. I’ve got a twin too, goes by Runamuck. You’ll see him around, but we’re only bond twins, not split.”

“Split-sparks be pretty rare, no?” Sideswipe asked a little cautiously. Again, lacking education on that matter—and every other matter—but it was the impression he’d been left with.

Runabout confirmed it with a nod. “Rare as frag. We’ve got three other pairs of twins here that I know of, but never met split-sparks before.”

“Who are the others?” Sunstreaker had turned to man the dispenser, but glanced Runabout’s way with his question.

“Topspin and Twin Twist are here in the harem, and Soundwave has a symbiote pair, Rumble and Frenzy, both bond twins,” Runabout told, watching Sunstreaker go through the long ass process of getting a single cube and giving him tips when it looked like he wasn’t sure what the next thing to do was.

Overall Sunstreaker was handling it pretty well though, in Sideswipe’s opinion. “Soundwave has frame twins in his flock too, Lazerbeak and Buzzsaw,” Runabout continued.

“...That’s a lot of twins,” Sideswipe noted. He had sort of known that frame twins and bond twins in particular weren’t that rare, but having _four_ other pairs of twins around still seemed like a lot.

And now they were the fifth ones.

“Not so much if you consider how common other types of twins are, though,” Runabout said as Sunstreaker finished getting his cube. Lightly flavored, warmed midgrade, which just seemed all kinds of luxurious to Sideswipe, and it wasn’t even _that_ fancy. At least not compared to what the dispenser could do. 

He went to take his turn next as Sunstreaker took his first experimental sip of his fresh energon. Taste like _nothing_ they’d ever experienced burst over his sensors and made his optics widen in surprise. The midgrade Megatron had given them had been high quality, and this was too, but combined with the light flavoring and the _warmth_ that snaked into his tanks, the experience was… It was beyond just _fueling_ because you needed fuel.

It was enjoyment.

Runabout’s field flared with amusement again. “Tastes good?”

“Yeah,” Sideswipe breathed, then went back to fiddling with the dispenser, intent on getting the same experience with his own frame. Runabout stayed to help him too, and Sideswipe managed to create a cube for himself as well. A little faster even than Sunstreaker. Hah, take that!

It was nothing too fancy for him either, because he really didn’t know what combination of things would’ve worked and what wouldn’t have, but it had flavor, it had additives, and it was warm too.

Sideswipe hurried to take a sip under the amused gazes of Runabout and Sunstreaker, and he wasn’t disappointed. Well refined, it was quality fuel like they’d never had on the streets, and combined with all the extra in it, it was a trip down the road of luxury that now surrounded them. It warmed his mouth and sore throat and bloomed across his sensors with taste he wouldn’t have ever even imagined.

Which was maybe a little dumb, it wasn’t like the rich were the only ones with flavored energon. But _they_ had never had it even close to regularly. As little extra as it would’ve cost, they hadn’t been able to spend even that much.

This was another little experience he would think back to fondly once they got the fuck out of here. He might even miss it.

But it wasn’t worth even _entertaining_ the idea of staying. Nothing would be after what they’d been put through.

“Enjoy,” Runabout said with a laugh before he wandered off with his own cube. Sideswipe watched him go join a white mech with a near identical frame.

Probably Runamuck, then. 

The dining hall was big enough that even with the mecha scattered about it, they had no difficulties finding a more private spot just for them in one corner. They sat down with their cubes, side by side, and…

Then it was quiet. Sure, there was the background noise of conversation and laughter, alien with its harsh tones, but their newly acquired language installs were hard at work making them understand all of it.

But they didn’t focus on any of it, just let it all flow over them. In through one audial, out the other. No one was talking to them, no one was particularly even paying attention to them. Aside from their night in the library, it was as alone as anyone had left them since they… Since they’d arrived.

It was a time to sit down with their reorganized memory files, their defragged processors. And… Honestly, going through with their defrag cycle really hadn’t helped much. Things were still awful, their frames still ached in reminder of the rounds Megatron and the others had had on them, and they were no closer to a plan of escape.

Though that last one was mostly because they hadn’t gotten a chance to go explore and see the place for themselves. Once they knew the lay of the land, then they could start _planning._

It would be hard, he had no doubts about that. But they’d worked their way out of a lot of shit during the course of their short life. They could make it out of this too.

Somehow.

To get started on that… They fueled in companionable silence, enjoying the energon finer than anything they’d had before. Like, _really_ enjoying it, savoring every mouthful, drinking slowly to lengthen the experience.

Their cubes had completely cooled down by the time they were done. Just in time too, because the mecha in the dining hall had changed during their long fueling process, and a few were getting a little… _Frisky._

It was unbelievable how easily and quickly things could devolve into that, and Sideswipe couldn’t stomp down—nor did he really want to stomp down—the stirrings of straight up disgust. 

Or maybe that was Sunstreaker. He didn’t bother to try to track down the source.

But whatever depravity the others were going to get up to, they wanted _nothing_ to do with it, and to the tune of a quiet growl from Sunstreaker they dispersed their cubes and hastily left the dining hall just as panels started to snap open.

Fragging _pits_ these mecha were messed up.

His spark was a whirling ball of anger without a target, and lots of other emotions he didn’t even want to make sense of or address. He and Sunstreaker strode down the hallway and towards the only place they knew where they could escape all of… _That._

The library. It was quiet now too, aside from the rattle Sideswipe’s armor had taken on as they entered.

He was venting heavily by the time they’d made it to the back of the room and the sofa they’d recharged on. He didn’t sit down, instead took to stalking up and down the corridor between the shelves. Sunstreaker claimed post as a silent sentry at the halfway point of his path.

For a moment neither of them said anything, the only sound coming from the angry revving of their engines and Sideswipe’s pedesteps as he marched back and forth. Emotions blurred. Mostly anger.

Anger at the injustice of it all, of everyone’s complete disregard for the situation they were—like their feelings didn’t matter _at all,_ like their _experiences_ didn’t matter, like the slag had been done to them was… Was… _Okay,_ or right, or something. Acceptable.

It wasn’t! None of it was acceptable. No living being should go through the kind of shit they had within the span of a couple of orns. Had it been that long? Longer? Not as long?

Primus, he didn’t know.

He didn’t fragging know.

Sideswipe stopped at one end of the corridor and buried his face into his hands. How the pit had things gone so wrong so fast? They’d had their quiet life, and it hadn’t been much, but it had been _theirs._ They’d belonged to themselves, had no one tell them what they should and shouldn’t do. Not even the law, when it came down to that or survival.

Here _nothing_ belonged to them, not even their own frames. They’d been shown that pretty thoroughly.

They had no say in anything anymore. Any say they did have—illusion, easily stripped from them if the _higher powers_ decided so. 

Sunstreaker’s servo landed on his shoulder, a steadying weight. Sideswipe hadn’t realized his engine had started hitching, but it had. Now he took several ventilations, forcing them deep, even, fighting back the torrent of emotions. Shoving it all down.

It would be no use to give them a foothold now. He had to be able to think clearly.

They needed to find a way out. Start that process, long as he expected it to be. There couldn’t possibly be an easy way to do it.

And they couldn’t talk about it out loud, could they? If the mecha here were smart, they would expect they wouldn’t just lay down and take it all. They’d already fought back. They hadn’t _accepted_ things. 

If others had been brought here like they were, they had probably tried to escape too. The place had to be _prepared_ for that.

Escaping wouldn’t be easy, he was sure of that. But they would do it.

One way or another, they would do it.

That would mean leaving the _harem wing._ It was their first obstacle. Get out the door somehow. The rest of the palace would follow after that, but they’d need to get through the doors to the wing itself.

Couldn’t be that hard, right?

He was pretty sure it was going to be that hard.

Sideswipe cycled one more ventilation before letting his arms drop and glancing back at Sunstreaker. His brother nodded at him. He nodded back.

Time to test the damn door.

The library wasn’t completely empty anymore, there was another mate returning book files to the shelves. The twins snuck out without bothering him and turned down the dim, lush corridor to the looming double doors that functioned as the only entrance into the wing that they knew of. Maybe there were servants’ passages, and if there were, they’d need to find those too—they’d probably be their best bet at escaping, at any rate.

But basics first. Test the limits of their cage. See how far they could go.

...Not very far, it turned out. No one stopped them from getting all the way to the door. The guards didn’t even glance at them when they approached.

They got all the way to _touching_ the doors, but they wouldn’t budge. Locked.

“We’d like to pass,” Sideswipe tried saying to the guards.

They still wouldn’t even glance at them, just stared straight ahead. You’d think they were fragging drones or something, but no, he could scan their spark signatures just fine.

They were really good at acting like drones, though. “Hello?”

Nothing.

No reaction whatsoever.

Sunstreaker frowned and waved a servo in front of the optics of the guard on the right. They didn’t so much as focus on his hand.

It was like they were completely braindead or something, but that couldn’t be. They’d seen other guards moving just fine. Never saying a thing, but the way they had held them down to be branded—it hadn’t been the drone-like approximation of motion that characterized non-sentient machines. It had been fluid. Like they had all of their senses still.

Either these mecha were programmed like nothing he’d seen before, or they were trained for their role _really_ well. Their dark colors alone blended right into low light. Combined with their stillness and silence, it was so easy to just ignore them.

That was probably the entire point.

They probably weren’t potential allies though, and he doubted there would be any going through the doors without _explicit_ authorization from someone more important than them.

So… Either they needed to get that authorization, or they needed to find an alternative route.

Which would be faster?

Which would be easier?

Which would come with higher chances of success?

They were likely to get only _one_ chance at this. Their plan would have to be rock solid.

They needed to know all of their options before they could decide on the one most likely to work.

Most likely to see them the fuck out of here.

And somehow… Somehow they would need to make it look like they weren’t desperately plotting a way to escape. They couldn’t afford to come under any more scrutiny than what he was sure their status as newcomers already brought them.

The library seemed to be the least used location, the quietest. 

Might as well start there.

With that thought they abandoned the main doors and the good for statues guards watching over them and retreated back the way they’d come from. The library was abandoned again, the one mech that had been shelving things gone. The mecha here really didn’t seem to appreciate the peace and quiet, or else they didn’t feel like they needed it. 

Unbelievable.

But it worked in their favor. They split ways to explore the shelves running along the walls, searching for any signs of hidden passages. Not that they really knew what the pit they were looking for exactly. Seams? Any signs that things folded or moved, transformed this way or that? That was their best guess, having never actually seen a hidden passage that wasn’t a simple alleyway tucked in an unexpected place.

He didn’t think they’d find anything even that obvious around here. Servants were supposed to come and go unseen, weren’t they? The rich that could afford them didn’t actually want reminders of them, wasn’t it like that? They were just supposed to do their job and stay out of the way.

Maybe. That was their theory. Primus, he wished they’d even gotten to read some fictional book files on the topic, that would’ve already been a better start than knowing nothing more than what they could _guess_ at—nevermind having any concrete knowledge rooted deep in reality.

But, even if they had known something of how these things worked on Free Cybertron, could they have expected it to function the same in _Kaon?_ Maybe it would have, maybe it wouldn’t have.

They didn’t know jackall about that either. Was there anyone who _did_ know, though, with how closed off and secretive Kaon was? Probably some expert like that existed.

Didn’t benefit them at all right then, though. All they had was their own limited knowhow, about as limited experience, and their own smarts.

But it would need to be enough to get them through this.

They met back together at the back of the library, none the wiser to any hidden passages that might’ve existed. Maybe there were none here, could just be that. The bookshelves were huge, and you know, full of book files. It would probably be a bit of a hassle to have some sort of secret passages hidden in the middle of them, when there wasn’t an inch of bare wall left aside from the fake windows sitting at the back in steady intervals. Sideswipe stared at one of them now. It showed the cityscape of Kaon, from high up. Fliers flitted between the towers, and far, far below them you could just make out the tiny dots of lights of the grounders traversing the roads.

It was probably streamed through some actual cameras. Didn’t benefit them though. Neither did the actual, real windows they’d seen in the berthroom. For one, because they were grounders, and couldn’t have just flown to freedom through them.

And second, it was unlikely they would be able to break the glass in a million years.

They’d have to search the other rooms too, but that would be more difficult with the other mates around. Maybe during the night, if even just the majority were recharging, if not all of them. 

But it was the middle of the morning and most of them were going to be wide awake. Bad time to go snooping around.

What did that leave for them to do? Kill time? Try not to think about everything that had happened?

It would help if they could understand the language fluently though, no matter what they’d end up doing. Starscream had suggested the library, and they were in the library now, and it was a solid piece of advice. They’d either need to listen, talk, or read to integrate the new files, and reading was the most likely to provide them a wide range of vocabulary to integrate a larger portion of their installs.

Hushed voices came from the entrance as several someones entered the library, and that was probably their cue to start acting _normal._ At an unspoken agreement both brothers started browsing the shelves in a genuine search for something to read.

It looked like they were in the history section, though he would’ve used the term loosely based on the titles. Among ones that were _probably_ history, there were others that just sounded like… Propaganda.

‘Abandon the Uniform’

‘Death to Individuality’

Probably referring to Free Cybertron, was his guess. Didn’t really cast it in a positive light.

‘Uniform Cybertron: Rise of the Primacy’

Hey, that one might even have some hope of staying objective!

‘Kaon’s Great Conquerors’

‘Thunderwing – High Protector of Kaon’s Cultural Heritage’

The last one caught his interest. It still had a strong whiff of being biased as all pits, but there was no denying Thunderwing was an important figure in Cybertron’s history, even as far as Free Cybertron was concerned. He had his own history files on the mech.

But what was _Kaon’s_ take on the mech Free Cybertron liked to paint as a villain? After all, Thunderwing had been the one to lock up Kaon. That was a pretty big move against freedom, wasn’t it?

What he found shifting through the pages of the bookfile was an entirely different story. The events leading to the Unification were quickly covered by the beginning of the book, and already the angle taken when describing them was just _negative._ Bad this, bad that, things went wrong.

It went completely against the history files _he_ had integrated. 

And it only got worse once they got to describing Thunderwing’s response to Zeta Prime’s maneuvering. It did come with a lot of details Sideswipe’s files didn’t hold—though how _true_ those details were was an entirely different question. It could just be Kaon knowing more about what had happened in Kaon, or it could be made up stuff to make Zeta Prime’s campaign look worse. Either way, it definitely framed Thunderwing’s actions having been entirely in the name of preserving Kaon’s independence and _culture,_ like the title said. 

You’d think locking up an entire city, _no one in, no one out,_ would’ve been an extreme measure just to protect your culture.

The book didn’t much agree with that assessment. It talked about the _heroism_ of Thunderwing’s stand against Zeta Prime and Unified Cybertron’s troops, the event that both the book and his own history files agreed was the point where all cordiality between Free Cybertron and Kaon had been severed.

But not once did the book talk about the Cybertron outside of Kaon as _Free_ Cybertron. Instead it talked about Free _Kaon._ The rest of Cybertron was only called unified at best, _indoctrinated_ at worst.

Considering _Kaon_ was the damn city that had closed its gates all those eons ago, not Free Cybertron having done it for it, he was really struggling to see how Kaon was _free_ in any way. _Free Cybertron_ was where you could go wherever you wanted without being stopped by massive walls with more guns than any sane mech would mount on them.

If you had the credits to travel, anyway. If you didn’t… Tough luck.

They’d know something about the unkindest cards Free Cybertron and Iacon could hand you. Off to gutters with you! Good luck scraping by, forgotten by all officials. Enjoy the splendor of the city from the perspective of a _vermin._

A little disturbed, Sideswipe closed the book file and carefully placed it right back where he’d picked it up from. In the meantime Sunstreaker had wandered off to the fictive section’s _romance_ shelves, and was puzzling over one starcrossed lovers story about a Kaonite and a mech from Crystal City. Instead of the Kaonite being desperate to escape Kaon or despairing about the closed gates of his city, he was instead… Worried for his long-distance lover. Worried that he’d believe the lies _Unified_ Cybertron was feeding him.

And in the book’s happy ending, the Crystal City mech was “freed” from _Unified_ Cybertron’s corruption and joined his Kaonite lover in _Free_ Kaon.

Sunstreaker put that book file away too, but something gave Sideswipe the feeling that the same theme would repeat in any and every bookfile they’d pick up.

“Megatron’s called for an orgy tonight!” someone announced from the library doorway before rushed pedesteps signaled the same mech’s departure, and the exclamation sounded again from further down the hall.

They sounded almost _excited_ about it, but Sideswipe froze in place. His spark started spinning wildly as the implications of that rampaged into his head.

More interfacing.

More interfacing with a lot of mecha.

More interfacing with _Megatron._

His ventilations quickened despite himself, and before he knew it Sunstreaker had appeared next to him, equally anxious but hiding it infinitely better. 

“What are we going to do?” Sideswipe whispered at him, catching his bottom lip between his denta and worrying it aggressively. He couldn’t handle more fragging with Megatron. He _couldn’t._

Before Sunstreaker could answer with anything, more pedesteps had them turning their attention to their right. Skywarp appeared soon after, waving at them.

He was so cheerful. How could he be so cheerful? “Hiya! I was thinking, do you need any help preparing for the orgy? I mean, it’s your first.”

“Preparing?” Sunstreaker asked incredulously, before Sideswipe had even come up with any theories of what Skywarp meant.

Skywarp didn’t keep them theorizing for long. “You know… Megatron’s pretty big,” the Seeker said, approximating the width and length of Megatron’s… _You know,_ with his hands.

And Sideswipe really, _really_ didn’t need any reminders of it. He cringed towards Sunstreaker, his brother snarling lowly before he snapped at Skywarp, “No, we fragging well don’t need help _preparing.”_

“Oh.” He didn’t want to feel sorry for Skywarp, he really didn’t, but the mech looked like a kicked puppy and Sideswipe couldn’t help himself. “You _do_ plan to prepare though, right?”

Sunstreaker stayed quiet for a moment before he growled out, “No, not really.”

Skywarp frowned. “It’ll go a lot easier if you’ve prepared though. You’re even smaller than me and Star.” And the pair of Seekers were about the biggest mecha they’d seen in the harem, yeah yeah.

“No,” Sideswipe found his voice to say, frowning right back at Skywarp. No, they weren’t going to _prepare_ and just… _Accept_ what was going to happen.

Act as if they had no way to escape it.

_Even though they probably didn’t have a way._

“Oh,” Skywarp repeated, scuffing the floor with his pede. Sideswipe got the feeling he _thought_ he was acting in their best interest, but he fragging well _wasn’t_ for as long as he wasn’t slagging planning a way to _escape_ right with them. 

And as nice as Skywarp seemed, Sideswipe was sure he wasn’t anyone to be trusted with their plans of getting the frag out of here. Skywarp was… _Okay_ with what was happening. He hadn’t shown any signs that he wasn’t.

He treated it all like it was _normal,_ like fragging well _everyone_ here did.

It wasn’t normal! How could anyone think it was normal? Or something that shouldn’t be fought against at _every_ turn. Every mech should have the right to self-dictate, you couldn’t just… Take all of that _away_ from them.

But that was exactly what everyone here was doing.

“Um…” Sideswipe started despite the refusal and denial he stubbornly clung to, that tenacious _hope_ that said they could still escape the _orgy,_ “Who all… Participates in it?”

Skywarp seemed almost relieved that he was getting something other than _no’s_ from them. “The orgy? Just the harem, and probably Soundwave,” he answered quickly, and Sideswipe in turn felt some relief that the likes of _Motormaster_ and _Vortex_ weren’t going to be present. 

The harem and Megatron, and apparently Soundwave too, those were bad enough.

Especially Megatron.

And probably Soundwave. Everyone in the harem itself seemed pretty nice, but Megatron definitely wasn’t, and for Soundwave to have gained as high a rank as he had, Sideswipe highly doubted he was a particularly nice individual either. 

“How does it work exactly?” Sunstreaker asked. Sideswipe glanced at him and at the deep frown etched on his brother’s handsome features.

That was a good question. His optics shifted back to Skywarp.

“Everyone gets together and frags,” was Skywarp’s answer, which was all kinds of _duh,_ but the Seeker continued before Sideswipe had the time to berate him for stating the obvious. ”Megatron will activate a signal that makes your interfacing protocols go _haywire._ It’s a lot of fun, makes ‘facing a lot more rewarding, and you know, it’s pretty fun even normally.”

“...Haywire in what way, exactly?” Sunstreaker prodded further, sounding several degrees below happy.

Sideswipe couldn’t say he was feeling very happy either.

“Makes you horny,” Skywarp clarified with a shrug. “Like, _really_ horny.”

Yeah, Sideswipe was definitely feeling unhappy right now. 

And Skywarp called it “rewarding”.

Sideswipe wanted nothing to do with it. Neither did Sunstreaker for that matter. His brother growled. “Sounds like _mind games_ to me,” Sunstreaker said, and Sideswipe nodded in agreement.

Skywarp didn’t look like he really knew what to say to that. The flier shifted his weight from pede to pede, his gaze drawing to the side, and again Sideswipe almost felt sorry for him.

But he couldn’t just ignore the way Skywarp normalized all of this. _Enjoyed_ it even. 

He was as fucked up as the rest of them. 

“Well…” Skywarp said after an awkward moment of silence that the twins refused to break, “I guess… If you change your mind I’ll be in the entertainment room.”

With that he wandered off, his thrusters clicking on the floor until he retreated too far for them to hear. 

Sideswipe halfway collapsed against Sunstreaker with Skywarp gone and no one there to witness them. “We’ll just stay right here,” Sunstreaker murmured to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

And… That sounded good. Hide away in the library. Let the rest of them have their _fun,_ but they would stay in the maze of shelves and _not_ participate. 

He hoped they could do that, anyway. There weren’t a lot of other places to go.

Out of lack of anything better to do, they continued to browse the literature, and the same theme continued. Free Kaon, a fooled Cybertron outside of it, terrible Primacy, all hail Kaon’s rulers, yadda yadda. There was _nothing_ that deviated from that norm. Was it because really no one wrote that stuff, or because it just wasn’t let into the harem’s library?

Or was it not let _anywhere?_ Was this how they brainwashed their citizens? Because you would’ve thought the people would’ve revolted against the oppression of their government and tried to regain their stolen freedom.

But that had never happened. At least, not as far as Free Cybertron knew—Sideswipe was pretty sure something like that would’ve made it into their (very basic) education.

No Kaonite book spoke about any uprising like that either, though. Would they have written about it, or pretended it never happened? He really didn’t know.

He didn’t know how much of anything here he could _trust._ But… It all was a new perspective to their existing history files, if nothing else. Who knew, maybe there was a smidgen of truth to all of this and those that genuinely believed this version of events—everything about the _villainy_ of the Primacy and the _savior_ Thunderwing had been, succeeded by a line of tyrants that had followed in his footsteps and kept Kaon locked down tight.

All the way to _Megatron,_ their personal tormentor. 

His servos shook as he deposited his latest bookfile back to the shelves. Time had turned and it was closing in on evening.

‘Tonight’, it had been said. It wasn’t an exact measure, but maybe there never was. Maybe Megatron would just show up when he pleased and start the whole thing. He was sure the tyrant would’ve had every right to that, at least. Even telling his plans ahead of time was probably just… What? Some weird gesture of thoughtfulness so everyone could _be prepared?_

If nothing else, the hours they’d spent in the library had done a great job of integrating their language files. They shouldn’t have issues with understanding Kaonite anymore, so… Yay.

It hit him like a freight train. One moment he was standing there, reading the titles at the backs of the bookfiles.

The next he was on his knees, gasping, his engine quickly revving higher and higher and _heat_ pooling in his frame—concentrating in a spot down under. Sunstreaker groaned somewhere off to his side, in much the same predicament as him, although his brother was still on his pedes.

Just leaning heavily on one of the solid shelves.

It took Sideswipe a good amount of time to clear his mind through the haze of arousal enough that he at least had his senses about him again. This was… Probably exactly what Skywarp had been talking about. The sheer _arousal_ coursing through his lines made him grind his denta as he staggered back to his pedes. His valve slicked despite himself, his spike thumping against its cover.

He was panting, fast ventilations that failed to do shit to cool his frame. It was hard to focus. At least, hard to focus on anything that wasn’t how _turned on_ he was. 

But even through it, he knew he didn’t want to interface. His frame wanted to, Primus, it _needed_ to, but _he_ didn’t want to. It was nothing but an unwanted invasion on his senses, something to further rob him of his right to control his own frame. An attack from the _inside,_ this time.

This was worse than having his frame abused by external forces. This was like how Megatron had forced him into arousal with his damned hand. Just as unwanted as that time.

Sideswipe heaved one ventilation after another, fighting down the _need._ His interfacing protocols really were going haywire, just like Skywarp had said they would. They kept _firing,_ convinced by something unseen that he was _aroused, making_ him aroused, and there was nothing he could do to make them believe otherwise. Something overrode his every attempt.

He hadn’t known anything like it was even possible. Forcing arousal through interaction with the frame, yeah, sure.

But arousal forced upon him without anyone or anything even _touching_ him?

Just who had come up with this? For what purpose? For _this_ alone, to make _harems_ desperate for a spike or a valve to facilitate _orgies?_

It probably had some other uses too, but he was a little too preoccupied to start thinking about those other things, no matter how he wanted to. _Anything_ to distract him from the heat suffusing his frame and muddling his thoughts, hammering him with that need need _need._

Sideswipe moaned, but kept denying his frame. He wasn’t going to– Fragging _touch_ himself or whatever. And he wasn’t going to go out there with the _others._ He hung onto his force of will stubbornly, exercising the self-control he’d never had a hell of a lot of—but it would have to be enough now. He was a hedonist, but this wasn’t about pleasure alone.

This was forced upon him. This he didn’t want.

It didn’t matter how long this would last. It _couldn’t_ matter. He wouldn’t admit failure even if his frame overheated from his obstinate denial.

Was that his thought, or Sunstreaker’s? Sunstreaker had always had more control over himself. He could deny himself.

Sideswipe latched onto that strength now to power himself through this too.

But time absolutely crawled by, the both of them holding onto the bookshelves to even remain on their pedes, and every second of every minute their interfacing protocols kept running, making their engines rev, their arrays _throb._

It couldn’t have been too long though, before there were mecha entering the library. The twins could hear them walk around until they found them, and with some effort Sideswipe glanced off to the side.

It was the guards. Both of them. “Megatron has ordered you to the berthroom,” one of them spoke up, voice even, but not the empty monotone of drones.

The confusion over their real nature managed to distract Sideswipe for a precious second that wasn’t spent circling around his own heat.

Sunstreaker growled, his engine revving with _anger_ as well as arousal. “Frag off!” he barked at the guards, who didn’t even shrug as a reaction to the vitriolic fields flaring in warning.

They just walked to them without any hesitation or any excess gestures. The first one went past Sideswipe, but the second one grabbed him. Sideswipe wished he could’ve said he put up a fight, but instead his frame _arched_ against the other mech and he gasped at just that completely innocent touch.

His mind didn’t care what manner of touch it was though, everything registered as potential relief to be sought for.

Sideswipe bit back his moans as the guard bent his arm behind his back, straining his shoulder and elbow and by that taking good control of his frame—especially seeing he didn’t have his full faculties.

And that thought scared him. He still had enough of his mind to fervently not _want_ any of this, but too much of it was addled for him to completely deny his protocols. 

Sunstreaker was cursing, and although his state was no lesser than Sideswipe’s, _he_ had enough wherewithal to fight the guard taking a hold of him. And that was exactly what he did when the guards started to push-drag them from the library, Sideswipe’s pedes terribly uncooperative and his interface array pinging him incessantly. There was a frame touching him, and right now his processors were convinced the only right thing to do was _frag them._

A method of torture, that was what this could be used for as well.

They were marched all the way to the berthroom, and the longer the walk went on, the harder even Sunstreaker found it to keep struggling against the hold on him—the harder it got to not push against it for reasons that were the very opposite to breaking free.

The berthroom doors opened for them to a scene that Sideswipe had feared and dreaded and feared some more: mecha, _all of_ the harem, fragging. There was moaning, there were overloads, the stench of lubricant and transfluid was heavy in the air, _everyone_ had a partner or several.

And overlooking it all from the massive berth on the raised dais, was Megatron. And Soundwave next to him, as Skywarp had predicted. They both had their spikes out, Soundwave stroking his own and… Starscream’s helm bobbing over Megatron’s. The Seeker was fingering his own valve even as he worked Megatron’s spike, and pits, if he was as affected as Sideswipe felt, it wasn’t a wonder he didn’t have the patience to focus on just servicing someone.

How he could just kneel there and service Megatron though, wings fluttering like he _enjoyed_ it… That part Sideswipe didn’t understand. Not at all.

Megatron’s optics fell on them as they entered, and with a simple flick of his claws he summoned them over. Of course, they wouldn’t have gone if they’d had a say in it, but the guards still kept their hold on them and dragged them to the dais.

With another arrogant gesture Megatron had Starscream draw off his spike with a final parting lick on the tip, and with a _glare_ at them—that Sideswipe also didn’t understand—the flier hopped off the berth and wandered off.

Sideswipe didn’t pay attention to him, because Megatron and Soundwave had all of their attention on them. “These the new acquisitions?” Soundwave asked with an oddly mechanical voice that momentarily distracted Sideswipe from the heat in his frame.

“Yes,” Megatron responded with some satisfaction ahead of his piercing optics focusing on the brothers. “I trust you were given your new language files?” the tyrant asked in Kaonite, as he already had conversed in. Its harsh tones fit his demeanor a lot better than Standard did.

Sideswipe found himself nodding before he could think better of it. “Good,” Megatron said before he let his optics travel down their frames in a way that made Sideswipe’s plating crawl and Sunstreaker growl. “And I see Knock Out got his hands on you two.” Amusement? Definitely amusement, but Megatron’s engine also rumbled in something that was nothing but _approval._

Sunstreaker growled harder, but before Sideswipe had the chance to join him in the sound, Megatron had already turned to _Soundwave._ “Take your pick,” the grey mech said with a genteel gesture at them, and Sideswipe really didn’t like the thought of being handed off to–

Be abused all over again. And Soundwave got to choose which of them he wanted to violate.

The dice fell on Sideswipe, because Soundwave pointed at the red twin before turning his hand around and flicking the extended digit.

The gesture was clear as day.

This time Sideswipe had the time to snarl.

Megatron’s field extended briefly with amusement, right before the guard holding him stepped closer to the berth—close enough that Megatron could reach to grab him by an arm. The guard let go of him as he was hoisted onto the berth, scrambling on its surface as he was dragged across it only to be shoved in Soundwave’s lap.

His arousal skyrocketed at the contact. Sideswipe’s engine hitched, his vocalizer spat a little sound of static.

“Come here,” Megatron said to Sunstreaker, but Sideswipe’s focus went to the mech whose spike was _touching_ him. He was frozen in place for a moment too long, because Soundwave didn’t waste time grabbing him, manhandling him onto his back and pinning him in place. Soundwave wasn’t as big as Megatron, but he was still larger than Sideswipe.

And once again Sideswipe himself at a disadvantage against someone larger and stronger than him. 

“Open,” came the command, Soundwave’s spike nudging against his closed valve cover. Lubricant was leaking through the seams, and Sideswipe stared sightlessly at the ceiling as his frame _reacted._ There was a spike so close to him, a promise of a _relief,_ of interface, and he couldn’t do more than gasp after gasp at the torrent his mind turned into.

But he kept his cover closed. He didn’t want this, no matter what his frame thought.

_He didn’t want this._

His frame didn’t listen to reason. Soundwave rubbed his spike over his cover, and Sideswipe _keened_ as the need and desperation assaulted his senses. It was all he could think about. It was all he could do to keep his cover closed. His fans were spinning madly, but it wasn’t enough to cool his frame. Nothing was enough.

Nothing would be enough and there would be no relief until he _gave in._

But he wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

Sideswipe shook his helm, side to side over and over again. Tears started to run from the corners of his optics again as his arousal _suffocated_ him. It all became about _this_ moment, about the spike teasing so close to his valve, and oh Primus he wanted it so badly.

No. No, _he_ didn’t want it. His frame did. His frame wanted it like he’d never wanted anything before and his tears flowed as he kept _denying._

“I know you want to,” he could dimly hear Megatron’s voice say, and he suspected it wasn’t directed at him, but it rang true regardless.

He wanted to.

_He didn’t want to._

Sunstreaker wanted to.

_Sunstreaker didn’t want to._

The golden twin snarled where Megatron kept him poised right above his Primus damned _spike._ His hold was tight, so tight it didn’t matter how much he struggled, he couldn’t break free. Heat was wafting from his frame—even with all of his vents blown open, he was still hot. So, so hot.

And Megatron was smiling at him. The bastard knew exactly what he was doing, what was happening, but by all appearances _Megatron_ was completely unaffected by whatever ailed him and Sideswipe and the rest of the harem. There was no desperation about him.

Just the sense of smug superiority Sunstreaker had already come to associate with him.

He growled at the tyrant, but his vision was shimmering and glitching from the amount of signals his interface protocols were sending him, overwhelming his processors. Heat pooled in his abdomen, in his groin, and he was _desperate_ for the spike he was held above. At least, his frame was. The rest of him couldn’t have wanted it any less.

He didn’t want to give in to Megatron’s _games,_ admit defeat in the face of the tyrant’s ploys. Sunstreaker held onto his inhibitions with an iron grip, but the longer he resisted, the more amused Megatron grew.

A strangled groan escaped him when he was lowered just enough for the tip of Megatron’s spike to flirt with his scorching cover, lightly slipping in the lubricant leaking out of him. He was so wet. His frame was so _ready._

Yet he held back, closing his optics in his effort that he refused to call _doomed._ There had to be a way to withstand this, and he would find it.

There had to be a way to deny Megatron what he wanted. 

Sideswipe didn’t find it. His brother’s engine hitched, then revved, and his cover snapped back. Soundwave buried himself to the hilt at that moment, and Sideswipe _screamed._

Pleasure rocked their core as the infernal _protocols_ were satisfied, and Sideswipe sobbed in relief even as self-loathing burst in their spark.

It wasn’t enough to override the sheer _satisfaction_ of giving in, though, the _alleviation,_ release from the little hell that their frames had been turned into.

Sunstreaker’s mouth fell open, though no sound came out. His frame shook from the conflict of _need_ versus _will—_ his armor rattled.

And he could hear Megatron’s laugh, feel the pulse of _approval_ in his field. It seemed that no matter what they did, Megatron _liked_ it. Whether it was them fighting him or them giving in to him, for Megatron it was always victory.

And for them it was always loss.

His spark sank with their utter _helplessness,_ and when Sideswipe received a particularly hard thrust courtesy of Soundwave— _Sideswipe moaned, drunk from the pleasure shattering his world_ —Sunstreaker’s valve cover opened without any conscious input from him, a gush of lubricant falling onto Megatron’s waiting spike.

Then he was dropped down, Megatron’s spike tip finding the entrance to his valve and sinking in. His weight impaled him all the way, the tyrant’s girth stretching him open _so wide._ Sunstreaker grunted at the pain his internals complained with, but the fact it didn’t hurt _quite as much_ as before was a terrible realization to come to.

He didn’t want to get _used_ to this.

But the pain became an afterthought with the _reward_ Megatron’s spike was, as far as his frame was concerned.

Disgust. Disgust with his frame, disgust with the way it had been turned against him.

Sideswipe was crying in earnest, pleasure, humiliation, and that same revulsion coiling together until they strangled their spark, and Sideswipe couldn’t take it.

Pit, Sunstreaker wasn’t sure if he would be able to take it either, not when Megatron drew him up, lighting sick pleasure in his frame as his spike dragged over the wet sensors in his valve—and then let him drop back down, and the pleasure multiplied.

He didn’t want _any_ part of him to want this, and he fragging well didn’t want to _enjoy_ it, but here he was, a prisoner in a frame that was lighting up as Megatron repeated the same motion over and over again. Sparks started to spit from the gaps in his armor, and Sunstreaker overloaded embarrassingly fast, groaning as his frame locked up tight. Megatron revved at the way his calipers clenched around his spike, Soundwave jerked when Sunstreaker’s overload pulled Sideswipe over the edge too and had his frame doing the same, and the both of them kept fragging them all through their release, only extending it.

Disgust. So much of it he thought he would drown, and he wasn’t sure which of them thought that. Both of them, maybe. The sentiment echoed in their spark even as their frames _reveled_ in what was being done to them. Sideswipe’s reluctant moans joined the ones already sounding from all around the room, adding to the noise of debauchery that dominated everything.

But Sunstreaker could barely focus on anything except the slick sound of his valve being penetrated time and time again—and the fact the pain of it was quickly receding, replaced with nothing but his affected mind’s approval of what he was doing.

Not that he was doing anything. Megatron kept a hold of him, Megatron fragged him, Megatron did things to him. He used his frame, and it wasn’t important that he was forced to enjoy it as well.

Or maybe it was. Maybe Megatron drew perverse pleasure from knowing he was forcing him into experiencing pleasure from the unwanted violation of his frame.

Soundwave humped Sideswipe harder, drawing ever louder noises from his brother, until he thrust in deep one more time and overloaded without a sound. Then it was over—Soundwave didn’t play games, just pulled out and scooted back, leaving Sideswipe laying there, leaking transfluid and lubricant and fighting to make any sense of the state of his helm.

Megatron wasn’t far behind, his engine rumbling louder as he neared his own completion. It couldn’t come fast enough if you asked Sunstreaker, but still, before Megatron got that far, _Sunstreaker_ reached his limit and ground his denta as another overload wracked through him. Next to them, Sideswipe arched off the berth with a surprised cry as the pleasure crashed through their spark to him and shoved his overly sensitive frame straight over the edge with no external stimulus.

But the way his valve tightened and clenched down was enough for Megatron to shove him down on his spike. Sunstreaker could feel the hot pulses of transfluid at the very back of his valve, but as much as his frame rewarded him for it…

He wasn’t relieved. This wouldn’t be _it,_ he knew that much with absolute certainty.

They were just getting started if the _past_ was any indication.

Megatron shoved him off his spike and Sunstreaker fell forward, catching himself with his arms. His frame still shook, his interface protocols far from satisfied—still telling him to _keep going,_ to continue, frag his way into oblivion.

And he doubted that would change before _Megatron_ decided they were all done. 

“Give him here,” Megatron spoke up, and Sunstreaker glanced his way just when the tyrant reached an arm for Sideswipe. Soundwave grabbed his brother, pulled, and just like that, Sideswipe was handed from one rapist to another. Megatron caught him and maneuvered Sideswipe until his twin’s face was right next to Megatron’s massive spike. “Suck.”

Sideswipe shook his helm even as Soundwave moved to snatch Sunstreaker before he had the time to get the frag away from there. Despite his cussing the gilded twin was still pulled to the second in command, and in short order Sunstreaker found his valve invaded all over again.

At least Soundwave wasn’t quite as big as Megatron. Not that it would’ve really mattered at this point, their frames were far too eager to translate _everything_ into pleasure. Even the pain from penetration by a too big spike.

 _“Suck,”_ Megatron repeated with more weight, his servo landing on the back of Sideswipe’s helmet, and he could remember all too well how that same servo had begun to _crush_ when he’d defied too much.

Despite the memories, Sideswipe shook his helm again, the best he could under Megatron’s hold.

It didn’t begin to tighten though, as he had expected it would. Instead Megatron brought his other servo into the game and pried his mouth open, pulling him up until he could insert his spike straight into Sideswipe’s mouth, and shoving him down as deep as he could get with the angle. Sideswipe gagged when it rammed into the back of his throat, and his faceplates stung, and he _hated_ it, and he wailed. Megatron’s engine rumbled with satisfaction at the vibrations his vocalizer made.

“Suck,” he said again, lightening his hold enough that Sideswipe could pull back—but not all the way. He stopped him before he could get the tip of Megatron’s spike from his mouth.

Sideswipe didn’t do as he was told.

He was shoved back down. He cried out.

Megatron let him pull partway up again, enough that his spike wasn’t harassing his gag reflex anymore.

Sideswipe refused to please him.

He was pushed down, Megatron’s spike practically smashing into the back of his intake.

And Sideswipe caught on.

Tears streamed down his face, but when he was allowed partway up this time, he put his mouth and glossa to use and did what Starscream had been doing. His glossa lashed across and around the spike, probing at the tip, and he pulled his helm back only to push back down. All the things he’d done when he’d willingly given oral to any of the many berth partners he’d had over the years. 

He was so far from that life. So far from _home._

But Megatron didn’t take control of his helm again. His servo didn’t leave his helm either though, a steady sign that he wouldn’t be allowed to go anywhere even if he wanted to.

And he wanted to so badly. He didn’t want to be doing this, and he kept his optics tightly shut to keep himself from having to see the grey armor. Pretend it was someone else. Someone he didn’t hate.

It didn’t work too well when the sheer size of the spike he was forced to service was too much of a reminder in and of itself.

At least he was allowed to go at his own pace, a small mercy. It was almost overshadowed by the fact his frame was still throbbing with _need_ even after the round with Soundwave. That hadn’t gone anywhere, and half of his tears were from the near pain of a frame denied. 

As if reading his thoughts, Megatron switched the servo holding him and reached down his frame with his newly freed one, sticking two thick digits into his sopping valve. Sideswipe couldn’t quiet his moan despite how he knew it would only pleasure Megatron further—and he didn’t manage to stop his frame from jerking backward against the intrusion.

If nothing else, he did stop himself before he started to outright rock on the digits. 

“Everyone,” Megatron said suddenly, raising his voice until it dominated the room. The noise quieted down considerably, everyone paying attention as he continued, “Come greet your new _confrères.”_

Sunstreaker revved hard somewhere outside of his field of view, and not just from his arousal. Sideswipe stilled, hoping he was misunderstanding the implications of Megatron’s words.

But obediently—because you didn’t say _no_ to Megatron, did you?—the mates disengaged from each other and crowded towards the dais. “Skywarp,” Megatron called first, and the Seeker quickly jumped onto the berth, and–

On Megatron’s further beckon, came up to Sideswipe.

Behind him.

Megatron removed his digits from his valve, only for smaller servos to land on his aft.

Sideswipe jerked away at once, or tried to, because Megatron’s servos tightened on his helm and kept him from pulling off, leaving. He tried to speak too, to voice his _refusal,_ but Megatron shoved him down on his spike and muffled any sounds he might’ve wanted to make. 

He tried to reach back instead, twisting his frame this way and that to keep Skywarp from going through with what he _knew_ was coming, tried to shove him _away–_

But Megatron intercepted his servos and pulled them forward, pinning them against his thigh.

It did mean he let go of his helm though, and at once Sideswipe pulled off and fought against the hold on his arms. “NO!” he yelled, clear as day, yanking against the hold on him, trying to move his lower frame away from Skywarp—he couldn’t make it any clearer he didn’t want this.

But his engine revved with excitement, his ventilations came fast and hard, and arousal clouded his thoughts until nothing but _want_ and _no_ remained. 

His valve dripped.

He met Skywarp’s optics, the Seeker’s servos steady on the plating of his aft, _unwelcome_ —but then Skywarp glanced up, at Megatron, nodded quickly, and without any further stalling, his spike found Sideswipe’s valve.

Sideswipe screamed his denial. It didn’t hurt, the fragging _opposite:_ his frame arched in overload just from that first entry, but he’d said _no._ He didn’t want it.

No one cared. Not even Skywarp, as nice as he had seemed.

The flier might’ve been larger than he was, but he was nowhere near to being Megatron’s size. His spike was nothing but unwanted _pleasure_ when he began to move. _Fast._

“Starscream,” Sideswipe could hear Megatron rumble, and in a flash the other Seeker was just _there,_ leaning down to lick up the length of Megatron’s spike.

Right next to Sideswipe’s face.

He should’ve felt angry, he was sure he should’ve felt angry.

Instead there was just despair. Starscream kissed his way up Megatron’s length until he reached the tip, where he took the massive girth into his mouth and sank smoothly down it, all the way to the base.

And Sideswipe was forced to watch the whole process while Skywarp fragged his valve.

Sunstreaker growled expletives off to the side when he was flipped onto his back. Soundwave was there, dipping his digits into his leaking valve and using his thumb to rub along Sunstreaker’s spike cover until it snapped back to a strangled groan from his twin and his spike pressurized rapidly.

But right next to Soundwave were other mates called forth by Megatron. One positioned their own soaked valve atop Sunstreaker’s spike and sank down, another took position behind them and lifted Sunstreaker’s hips enough to sink into his valve. Sunstreaker overloaded hard between the double use of his array, pulling Sideswipe into another screaming overload of his own. Skywarp made a surprised sound above him, before Sideswipe could feel hot splashes of transfluid against his valve sensors.

The Seeker pulled out only for another hot frame to replace him. Sideswipe glanced back even against the good sense that told him _don’t look._

Runamuck.

His claws sank into his hips and Sideswipe jerked from the sensation a second before Runamuck’s spike invaded his valve and the mech set up a pace even faster than Skywarp’s.

He wished it would’ve hurt, but with his valve so fragging _wet,_ it only lighted his sensors in wholly pleasant ways. 

Runabout went for Sunstreaker, but with his spike and valve already in use… What did that leave?

Sunstreaker told in no unclear terms he didn’t have the permission to do it, but ignoring his brother’s protests entirely, Runabout shoved his spike into Sunstreaker’s mouth.

No surprise, he got bitten.

He only laughed it off though, pulling out with the air of _no hard feelings._ Except there _were_ hard feelings. There would be a lot of _hard feelings_ by the end of this.

There were heated fields all around them and equally heated frames that took their turns with them. Sunstreaker’s spike and valve were free range, as was Sideswipe’s valve.

And Starscream mouthfucked Megatron until the tyrant came and turned around to switch to using his valve afterwards.

Right in front of Sideswipe’s face.

He didn’t want to have the front seat view of Megatron’s spike disappearing into the Seeker’s valve and coming back out almost all the way before Starscream came down again. Megatron enjoyed it, his field a thing of arrogance and enjoyment, and by all accounts _Starscream_ enjoyed it too. And not in the… Forced way, but _genuinely._

Like he _wanted_ it.

And _now_ Sideswipe could feel anger. It wasn’t enough that Megatron himself had his way with them, or that Soundwave did.

The whole goddamn _harem_ needed to have that same right.

Another overload crashed through him, triggering one in Sunstreaker too. Megatron kept a hold of his arms even as Starscream fragged his valve on his spike, keeping Sideswipe right there where he had to witness it all. Even if he didn’t look, he could hear and _smell_ it. 

And behind him, the mechs kept switching. Everyone only stuck around for as long as it took them to overload, and every time _Sideswipe_ overloaded it felt like he dragged an overload out of someone else too. His fans had been running high for so long already, straining to keep his frame cool even somewhat.

Pits, but it felt so good.

He wanted none of it, but his frame was singing with pleasure, every sensor turning more and more sensitive with every overload wrung out of him. 

Megatron overloaded two more times too, before he ordered Starscream off his spike and the Seeker went, almost _reluctantly._ As much as he didn’t fragging need the closeup view, he still wished Starscream had stayed when Megatron’s attention switched to him next. “Suck.”

He swore the bastard was on the verge of laughing when he said that. Suck his transfluid and lubricant covered spike? Suck him off at all?

_Fat chance._

Sideswipe growled, a second before his frame seized in another crest and fall of ecstasy. Megatron really did rumble something that sounded an awful lot like a laugh before Sideswipe’s helm was maneuvered until he was in a perfect position to take Megatron’s spike into his mouth.

Which he wasn’t going to do, no fragging way.

Megatron’s optics shifted over to where Sunstreaker was getting fragged even more thoroughly than Sideswipe was, although everyone had stayed away from his mouth in further practice.

Up until now, because Megatron nodded, and instantly Soundwave had his digits in Sunstreaker’s mouth, probing at the back of his throat until Sunstreaker was struggling to keep the contents of his tanks down all over again.

And Soundwave didn’t let up.

Because Sideswipe didn’t cooperate.

“It’s you or your brother,” Megatron explained, and the fragger was almost _smiling._ “I do remember how _eager_ you were to service my spike in your brother’s stead. Now you have the chance to do that.”

Sunstreaker’s frame bucked up, the little he could with the weight of another mate atop him. Soundwave kept thrusting his digits in, uncaring of Sunstreaker’s denta.

And Sideswipe couldn’t put his brother through that whole thing all over again. Sunstreaker hated using his mouth. _Hated_ it.

When it came to Megatron Sideswipe didn’t exactly like it either even if he hadn’t really minded doing it with partners he’d _chosen,_ but better him than Sunstreaker.

If he _didn’t,_ who knew how much further Megatron (and Soundwave) would’ve still gone to get what Megatron wanted, anyway.

Sideswipe bit back his revulsion and opened his mouth. As soon as he did, Megatron pushed him down and Sideswipe had to shove back his instinct to fight it.

Instead he took the spike into his mouth, transfluid and lubricant and all, and tried not to think about what he was doing.

Tried to ignore the _taste_ of other mecha’s interface. 

Soundwave removed his digits from Sunstreaker’s mouth, and that was all Sideswipe needed to think he had made the right decision even as he had to force himself into motion. His glossa wanted to recoil, _he_ wanted to recoil, but he kept a hold of himself even when yet another mech took a turn at his valve. Their thrusts rocked his frame and made it that much harder to service Megatron’s spike, but he tried. He used his lips, he used his glossa, he even dared to use his denta a little bit—just enough to satisfy Megatron with the extent of his cooperation.

No more than that.

Or so he hoped, anyway. 

“Swallow it,” Megatron ordered, and Sideswipe’s hopes that this might even stay _tolerable_ were summarily crushed. His throat constricted just at the thought of having to force the thick length down it.

Wasn’t his mouth _enough?_

“You saw how Starscream did it,” the tyrant continued, with that fragging _amusement_ in his voice. He _knew_ how much Sideswipe hated this. How much Sunstreaker hated this.

And Megatron was _enjoying_ it. Found their distaste of the situation _entertaining._

The mech at his valve overloaded, another’s release fell on Sunstreaker’s gleaming paint and his brother growled in offense—and then it was turn for the next ones. Who hadn’t had a round with them yet? Don’t be shy, step up to the queue for your turn to rape them!

 _“Now,”_ Megatron said, and that was all he needed to say for Sideswipe to hear the threat in his voice. No doubt he had something unpleasant in mind for Sunstreaker if Sideswipe didn’t obey. 

Sideswipe swallowed thickly, fighting with himself. He didn’t want Sunstreaker to suffer any further, and he was sure Megatron would find a way to make him suffer, but Primus, he didn’t want to do this. Not even the arousal in his frame was a factor, because _arousal_ didn’t magically want to make him perform oral. 

But when Megatron’s engine growled in final warning, Sideswipe steadied himself, cycled a deep ventilation and lifted his frame enough to have the room to sink down on Megatron’s spike—let it press into the back of his throat, then _down_ it.

Fresh tears welled in his optics as the damned thing stretched his intake until nothing but pain and discomfort was left, but Megatron was satisfied. His servo rested at the back of his helm, his other one going so far as to release Sideswipe’s arms.

Not that it mattered. As impaled as he was on the tyrant’s spike, there was nowhere he could’ve gone. It was still a relief, some illusion of freedom, and he propped himself up with his arms to– To maintain a better angle. “All the way,” Megatron told him, and biting back his keen, Sideswipe obeyed and sank down the rest of the way, until his face touched the tyrant’s groin. “Move,” was the next order, once he was through with the previous one, and Sideswipe closed his optics tightly. It didn’t stop the tears from streaming down his faceplates.

Here he was again, told to service their tormentor’s damned spike under his own power. It wasn’t like he _had_ to. Megatron would make _Sunstreaker_ feel it if he didn’t cooperate, but he might not _force_ Sideswipe. Right?

So he was almost doing this willingly.

At least, that was what it felt like when Megatron’s servo remained nothing but a weight on his helm. Nothing that was forcing him down, or forcing him into motion or– Forcing him into anything.

Just _there._

But he didn’t want Sunstreaker to hurt if it was in his power to prevent that. He didn’t want to find out what manner of methods Megatron would still use to get him to do as he was told. Instead, under the tyrant’s heavy servo, Sideswipe pulled back until his aching throat was free of the spike’s intrusion, only to push back down.

And repeated the motion, just as Starscream had done.

He hated it. Every moment of it, having to fight his gag reflex every time he took the spike to his throat, the short-lived relief of pulling off again—having to fight himself just to convince himself to swallow the massive length again after every time.

If nothing else, it effectively took his mind off the continued use of his valve. Too many spikes to count had already emptied themselves into it, transfluid practically pouring out of it by now.

But it didn’t hurt. If his arousal hadn’t been stomped down so effectively by what his front end was made to do, no doubt he would’ve had _plenty_ of overloads from it.

Sunstreaker _was_ having plenty of overloads from the unwanted use of his equipment, but even that wasn’t enough to pull Sideswipe over the edge with him anymore.

But he did what he had to do to keep Sunstreaker from going through something worse than just getting fragged up his valve, or someone using his spike. Soundwave was still there, having other members of his harem _see to him._ If what they’d seen so far was any indication, the blue mech wouldn’t hesitate to act as additional servos for Megatron, as preoccupied as Megatron was with Sideswipe.

With his damned brother. Wasn’t anything enough for him? How many times already had he forced one of them onto his spike, just to watch them struggle to take it and taking his pleasure from their pain? It wasn’t _Sunstreaker_ having to throat Megatron’s spike right then, but he felt no relief at the fact when Sideswipe’s ache of having to perform the act skipped from one spark-half to the other.

And _it_ was more welcome than the pleasure. He’d rather have pain, at least that would remind him he wasn’t willingly subjecting himself to any of this.

Instead of being allowed that, though, his frame kept arching off the berth, charge kept zapping across his armor—one grand overload after another from having both his valve and spike used in ways that were nothing more than pleasurable.

It was a small comfort everyone had kept away from his mouth after he’d bitten Runabout. He still couldn’t understand how the other mates—mecha in the same situation as they were!—could do this and show no hesitation or regret, give no _apologies._ Maybe Megatron would have made them all do it regardless—he got the impression the tyrant always got his way one or another—but the least they could have done was show remorse. It wasn’t a secret they didn’t want this, to be the center of the attention of this… _Orgy._

It was nothing but an orgy, because as much as they all took their turns with them, they were all equally busy fucking each other while they waited, or after they’d had their turn.

But they were the main event. Megatron had made them the main event.

Another overload crashed through him despite the abuse Sideswipe was going through, and he hated himself just a little bit more for it.

It seemed, though, that at last all of the harem had had their turns with them, because no one else moved to take the place of the last two mecha on him. Sideswipe’s valve was similarly abandoned, and…

Megatron didn’t overload. He removed his servo from Sideswipe’s helm and tapped the red twin’s chin instead. After a moment of still confusion Sideswipe experimentally pulled off Megatron’s spike, and indeed he was allowed to do that. In fact he was allowed to go so far as to scoot away from the tyrant, stopping once he was outside of reach and… No one prevented him from doing so.

Was it _over?_

Sunstreaker propped himself up with his arms, but froze when Megatron’s gaze shifted from his brother to him. “I do so enjoy your valve,” their prime abuser near _purred,_ and Sunstreaker would’ve gotten the fuck out of there if Soundwave’s servos hadn’t landed on him and pinned him in place. Megatron looked off to the side, and Sunstreaker followed the path of his optics to find Starscream glaring at the lot of them. The expression smoothed off quickly though, once Megatron’s attention fell on him. The Seeker was beckoned with a simple, “Starscream,” and that was all the invitation and direction Starscream needed to return to the berth and take a hold of Sideswipe.

His brother squeaked in surprise and tried to pull away, but the larger mech shackled him in place with his hold, bracketing Sideswipe with his legs and securing him against his chassis.

It was clear enough that Starscream did just what Megatron told. Just like _everyone_ here seemed to do, but the tricolor Seeker took a more… _Active_ role than the other mates, somehow.

That didn’t matter right now, though, because Megatron was also moving, coming for him and Soundwave let go of him only for Megatron’s servos to take a hold of him instead. Sunstreaker’s engine growled, from aggression as well as the arousal raging in his lines—and now that the twins weren’t on the menu, the other mates had gone back to happily fragging each other silly—but it didn’t dissuade the tyrant one bit. “Keep your servos off of me,” Sunstreaker added in for good measure, trying to jerk away, but _of course_ it didn’t work. 

“You don’t give the orders here,” was all Megatron said, and wasn’t that the truth, enforced with physical superiority. Even now, despite his struggling, Megatron simply flipped him around until he was on his front, and pulled his hips up.

Annnnnd they had been here before. “Are you going to break my back again?” Sunstreaker growled even as his frame sang hallelujah at him for the proximity of another spike near his valve. His ventilations ran even hotter at the promise of being entered again, yet all the while his spark spun wildly from how much _he didn’t want this._

It was of no consequence, though.

“That is up to you,” Megatron responded, and Sunstreaker hated, he _hated_ the false choices the tyrant kept giving them.

His spike shoved into his valve, and the stretch was as immense as ever, but it wasn’t the first time he’d already taken it tonight. His valve stung, but that was all.

He wished there would’ve been more.

And what was he going to do about it? He could submit to the treatment, or he could fight and be _made_ to submit to it eventually anyway.

He would have fought anyway, if Soundwave hadn’t positioned himself in front of them right as Megatron set up an even but relatively calm pace.

He knew exactly what Soundwave was planning.

He was having none of it. “Pit no!” he barked even as Soundwave grabbed him by the chin and pulled his upper frame off the berth, bringing his helm level with his spike.

Sunstreaker tried to jerk away, but the second in command merely tightened his hold.

“We can do this to you,” Megatron spoke up behind him, gaining his attention with a harsh thrust into his valve, _“Or_ to dear _Sideswipe._

“Your choice.”

Choices! How dare he call these _choices?_

Sunstreaker’s gaze shifted off to the side, to his brother. Sideswipe was staring at them with wide optics, wet tear tracks staining his pale cheeks. It wasn’t much of a decision to make. If he could spare his twin this, he would, no matter how Sideswipe tried to convince him otherwise. Their spark pulsed with his pleas.

Sunstreaker ignored him and let his optics shutter.

He didn’t voice his acquiescence, but Soundwave took it for what it was anyway. Sunstreaker didn’t fight it when clawed digits opened his mouth and a spike was slipped inside. Smaller than Megatron’s, but still too large, he gagged when it hit the back of his throat and forced its way down the channel that just wasn’t designed for this kind of use.

Soundwave didn’t care about _minor_ details like that any more than Megatron did, and as soon as he was penetrated from both ends, both Megatron and Soundwave began to move properly. Megatron was rough, every thrust hard and rocking his frame forward, to Soundwave’s spike. Soundwave was barely any gentler, grabbing a hold of his helm to keep him in place for him to take his pleasure of his mouth in the way he wanted to.

Neither cared about his comfort, but that was nothing new. They put in no effort to coordinate their motions, and Sunstreaker struggled to ride it out when his frame was jostled back and forth with no proper rhythm to any of it. The calipers at his valve ached from being pushed so far, but overall _that_ didn’t hurt no matter how heedless Megatron was.

His mouth was an entirely different story. His only consolation was that _at least it wasn’t Megatron_ —Soundwave wasn’t in the same size class as the tyrant he served, but the fact remained his intake and its calipers simply weren’t made to expand as far as they were made to do right then. Every thrust that sheathed Soundwave’s spike into his throat brought a fresh wave of pain from components protesting the abuse, but he couldn’t have pulled away even if he’d wanted to with the hold Soundwave kept of his helm. He struggled against his gag reflex.

He’d already emptied his tanks enough times from treatment just as this. Could he avoid doing that this time around?

But despite it all, his engine revved, and as Megatron continued to thrust into his valve, Sunstreaker’s overload built until it peaked and left him freefalling on the other side. He groaned as charge burst in his frame, the tightening of his valve calipers drawing Megatron over the edge as well.

As he’d done during their first days with them, he pulled out and let his transfluid splatter onto Sunstreaker’s back. He shuddered in disgust, but was it a good or a bad thing that he was distracted from that almost instantaneously? Because Soundwave sped up his pace, ramming into his throat with a single minded intensity that had Sunstreaker’s frame reacting before he could stop himself. He tried to pull away at the same time as his servo came up to push Soundwave away from him, a pained whine building in his throat. His throat constricted with the attempt to force the intrusion out, out, _out–_

But Megatron caught his wrist and twisted his arm behind his back, holding him in place for Soundwave to _do as he pleased._

And Soundwave pleased his own overload, which he roughly took from Sunstreaker’s intake until his frame was convulsing from its desire to expel the contents of his tanks all over again.

Finally though, and before his frame won the battle he was having with it, Soundwave smashed in one more time, buried himself deep—and overload crackled over his plating, transfluid shot down his throat, and yet the blue mech made no sound. Pits, he was making _Sunstreaker_ look like a loud one with how well Soundwave held onto his silence. 

But at least Soundwave didn’t linger. As soon as his spike had emptied itself, he pulled out, leaving Sunstreaker to swallow down his load. His helm hung; he tugged at the arm in Megatron’s hold.

To no avail. Megatron kept his hold on him, keeping his aching, heated frame in place. 

Primus, it didn’t matter what he did or what was done to him, his frame still yearned for _more._ There was no end to it, every overload wrung out of him just making his body thirst for another one.

Sideswipe was no better, and he’d been _left alone_ for one precious moment. There was relief in their spark for that, but his frame found it unbearable. He was rocking in Starscream’s hold, tortured by the tantalizing proximity of another’s interface array that was not given to him despite his frame’s demands. His engine was revving on high, fans spinning madly.

Sunstreaker knew _exactly_ what that felt like, just like he knew the mind and the spark’s absolute _hatred_ of their frames’ physical betrayal. Their spark cried no more, their mind begged for it to stop, and their frames kept running like they were drugged.

“Have I _neglected_ you?” Megatron asked, and Sunstreaker turned his helm to see the tyrant’s attention squarely on his brother. Sideswipe was staring back at the grey mech, optics still wide and engine whining from both arousal and fear.

No matter the need in their frames, nothing could make them _want_ Megatron’s attention.

“Let us fix that,” Megatron carried on, uncaring of their actual opinions. “Starscream.”

His name was all the instruction the Seeker needed, and Sideswipe was released only to get shoved in Megatron’s direction. His spike was still standing proudly, showing no signs of being _done_ despite his apparent immunity to whatever was plaguing the rest of the harem, and Sideswipe tried to scramble away before that tool could be used on him again.

It didn’t work. Megatron released Sunstreaker only to snatch Sideswipe instead, and in short order his brother’s legs were spread wide around Megatron’s hips and he was screaming from the intrusion into his frame.

Soundwave laid his servos on him in the meantime, and Sunstreaker’s spark threatened to entertain _defeat._ Starscream was fingering his own valve as he watched the show in front of him, frowning anew, and behind him _the rest_ kept fragging each other or themselves as if they could genuinely enjoy any of this.

And as Soundwave entered his frame all over again, Sunstreaker’s moans joined all of theirs as his frame was drawn into yet another overload.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Orgy!  
> Induced arousal  
> Coercion  
> Rape (valve, mouth, gang)  
> Simultaneous penetration from both ends  
> Forced overloads


	6. Waiting Game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I did not get this done within the timeframe I was hoping. Here goes though, finally.
> 
> Not much in the way of warnings for this chapter, just the usual angst and coercion and more angst and coercion. What a lovely day it is!
> 
> Enjoy, and sorry for the delay.

He would have never guessed that it was possible to fall asleep after something like that. How could the mind calm down enough to allow for rest?

But it wasn’t about the mind. It was about the body, pushed to its limit by an overload after overload—energy reserves used to depletion, all charge drained from one’s batteries.

Exhaustion.

It didn’t matter how the mind suffered and reeled, at that point. The frame took over, demanding things. Demanding rest. A chance to recharge.

And that was what it had decreed in the end. Sunstreaker wasn’t sure how long it had taken, and he wasn’t sure he _wanted_ to know. Those memories were best blurry and out of focus.

Like how many _unwanted_ overloads it had taken to finally knock him out. Sideswipe, too. How much distress it had taken for their minds to shut down, only now beginning to return to him as he climbed out from the grasp of pitch black sleep.

He wished he could’ve fallen straight back into it when reality began to creep in, but his processors’ march to consciousness was unrelenting. Memories began to flood in too, fuzzy as they were, and long before he wanted to, he became aware of where he was.

Of where he _still_ was. 

The only upside in the whole situation was that he couldn’t feel _his_ field or scan _his_ spark signature. Before his optics opened, Sunstreaker was already mostly confident that Megatron was not in the vicinity, and once his optics did open, a glance around confirmed that the tyrant was nowhere to be seen.

Figures. He probably had more important things to go, being the leader of the whole goddamned _city_ and whatnot. Have his fun, fuck and rape, then go on his merry way without a backwards glance!

He couldn’t confirm that last one, but it wouldn’t have surprised him.

There were plenty other spark signatures around him, other fields—Sideswipe was passed out next to him, warm to the touch and–

And covered in all manner of fluids.

Sunstreaker averted his gaze quickly, scanning the rest of the room. They were still on the large berth, and although there were a couple of other mates on it as well, most were recharging on their own cots. Some were already awake, talking in hushed tones to avoid disturbing those that were still resting, but even that didn’t account for everyone.

It appeared quite a few of the mates had recovered faster than him and Sideswipe had. But considering _they_ had gotten most of Megatron—and Soundwave’s—attention, Sunstreaker thought that was _fair enough. They_ hadn’t been allowed to choose their pace, or whether or not they’d like to have _breaks,_ or—Primus, if they even _wanted_ to interface in the first place.

He was shaking, his plating rattling just so. Were his ventilations a little faster than what they were supposed to be? Those were probably just the aftereffects of everything that had happened during the course of the night.

Everything else he shoved down deep, twice as resolutely when Sideswipe began to stir next to him. A small, wounded moan was the first sign of life his brother made, and it was nearly enough to break Sunstreaker’s spark all over again.

As if it had ever recovered from the first time.

Sideswipe returned to awareness much faster, panic seeping in before conscious thought. His optics snapped open to a wild look around, an uncoordinated jerk in his limbs. 

“Hey, hey,” Sunstreaker said at once, battling his own frame to roll onto his knees and land a servo on Sideswipe’s shoulder—and wincing from the stab of pain from his lower body. 

Megatron hadn’t gone out of his way to damage them this time around (and Soundwave hadn’t seemed interested in that either), but his valve was still throbbing angrily and his hip joints protested how much time they’d spent spread around someone’s _hips._

He wanted to purge, but pushed that down with the rest of it to focus on Sideswipe instead. His twin’s optics locked on him after a pass around the room, and slowly the look of _prey_ faded from them as his mind caught up.

Megatron wasn’t here, relief. Sunstreaker was here, relief.

Sideswipe’s mouth opened like he wanted to say something, but no words came out. What was there to say anyway? What could they say? Something to make things better?

There was nothing that would make things better.

That thought snapped between them like a whiplash, and Sideswipe caught his lower lip between his denta before he dropped his gaze. Sunstreaker’s servo on his shoulder tightened.

He hated to see his brother like this. Sideswipe was supposed to be larger than life, the light in the room, centerpiece of any party—everyone’s friend, always cheerful, refusing to let anything bring him down.

Here and now? What Sideswipe was meant to be and what he was were… _Miles_ apart.

But was that any wonder? There was the whole of a planet between where they were and where they were _supposed_ to be. 

Their life had been torn from them. They had been given no chances to let that sink in. All there had been was a relentless input of new things intermittent with abuse, abuse, and more _abuse._ Change after change after change… And more trauma than he had wanted to believe was possible.

And he feared this was only just the beginning.

That thought he didn’t want to reach Sideswipe, though, so instead he gave his brother a gentle shake to earn those optics back on him.

Sunstreaker smiled. Just a small smile, but even that felt so… Fake. And like it hurt to even produce the expression.

There was no reason to smile, but for Sideswipe he’d try to do so anyway.

“How-” he started, before thinking better of it and cutting his vocalizer. There was no point in asking how Sideswipe felt. Useless words, when he could feel and see all too well how Sideswipe was feeling.

Not well.

To put it mildly.

What to say instead? Or should he let there be silence?

“We- We should probably visit the washracks. Would you like to?”

Sideswipe took a moment to register his words before he nodded carefully, and swallowed, hard.

They both cringed at the taste of transfluid on his glossa and at the back of his throat, but Sideswipe nodded again, more firmly this time around, and began to push himself up. “Yeah, that… That sounds like a good idea,” he said quietly, flinching when he caught a sight of his frame.

Paint transfers and fluids were splattered liberally all over him. Sunstreaker knew he didn’t look any better. 

They really needed those washracks.

As one they scooted over to the edge of the berth and dropped down onto the dais it was on, and from there to the level of the rest of the berthroom. Some of the other mates glanced their way, but they didn’t stick around to see if anyone would’ve liked to say something to them.

They had been a part of it. _All of them._ Mecha in the same situation as they were… There was no way all of them were here any more willingly than them, and yet.

The fragging shit they’d done. To them. To each other. Just…

He didn’t even want to think about it. He could feel his anger rising, but it had no target in the present, and he didn’t want to take it out on Sideswipe. Sideswipe stumbled along next to him as they crossed the short distance through the hallway into the washracks, that weren’t empty—of course they weren’t, that would’ve been far too much to ask—but that still held the promise of washing away at least some of the signs of the… Orgy.

They scurried over to the far end of the room, to the last showerheads, and then under their hot sprays. Solvent pattered down their frames, and slowly it began to loosen the dried fluids, a process made much faster by the smooth coat Knock Out had applied onto their paint jobs, compared to the rough texture of…

Of before. 

How many times did it need to be said he’d rather have _that_ life than _this?_ It might’ve been a life of poverty, of scraping by, of going hungry, of uncertainty—but was there any more certainty in this?

Beyond the certainty of more ways to hurt them, physically and emotionally.

They had fuel, they had access to high quality paints and polishes, to washracks… A roof over their helms.

But the price wasn’t worth it.

Sunstreaker shuttered his optics, letting the solvent fall over him and soothe aching cables as it trailed into his internals through the gaps in his armor. Beside him Sideswipe did the same, and blissfully the other occupants didn’t break the silence of the washracks either. Maybe it was just because of the two of them, but the mood felt so somber. Like it wouldn’t have been right to speak.

So they didn’t. Without a word, but together, they grabbed scrubs and began to clean their plating to the best of their ability, helping each other where appropriate. The sealant Knock Out had used to protect their new paint was surprisingly good at its job. The paint transfers littering them came off in a way Sunstreaker hadn’t experienced before. Usually that amount of scuffs would’ve required touching up the underlying paint afterwards, but now… That didn’t seem necessary.

He wasn’t sure how grateful he was about that. It was one less thing to worry about, but also another _consequence_ of their situation—a separation from before, when they evidently hadn’t sealed their paint properly, or hadn’t had the ability to seal their paint properly. Whichever it was.

Same result.

It always came back to it: he’d rather have the _before,_ even with all of the supposed _downsides_ it had come with. 

They hardly even seemed like downsides anymore, compared to the downsides of being held captive in Kaon like this.

But as easily as the paint transfers came off, and no matter how well the solvent and the scrub dislodged the fluids that had dried on him, they did little to remove the ghost sensations that were left behind—and they did nothing to the way lubricant and transfluid streamed from his valve when he opened his cover against his better judgement. The moment he did, Sideswipe wished he hadn’t, but… He just wanted it _out._ Was that too much to ask? Too much to hope that he could make it feel like nothing had happened?

It was, wasn’t it? Gravity pulled out quite a bit of it, but he knew, he just _knew_ there was still so much left inside that he had no way to remove. 

And he didn’t want to touch it. Primus, he just…

His helm hung. He knew Sunstreaker was worried about him, and Sideswipe knew he was… Acting out of character in a lot of ways.

But could he be blamed for it? Look at what had happened to them. What did they have but each other, anymore?

What had they ever had besides that?

Freedom, that’s what. A right to self-dictate.

His paint was gleaming already, but that was only because of the repaint Knock Out had given them. He looked good.

He didn’t feel good. He didn’t want to look good. He wished he looked the part of the guttermech he was, even if he’d spent his life fighting that very appearance. But it was better than this—being a pretty, polished doll for one tyrant and his lackeys to use. And if he’d ever thought… If he’d ever thought that the other mates could be allies in this situation, those hopes had been crushed last night.

They were complicit. They did what Megatron told, even if… Even when that involved what it had.

It was so wrong. Didn’t they see how wrong it was? How could they just…

_How could they?_

Sunstreaker’s servo closed around his wrist and Sideswipe was snapped back to the present enough to realize he had washed the same spot for a needlessly long amount of time already. There was nothing left to clean in that area. There was nothing coming out of his valve anymore, his crotch and inner thighs washed clean by the running solvent, and he let his cover close back up. 

So why didn’t he feel clean?

Why couldn’t he forget how many servos had grabbed him by the hips to–

His claws, sharp like they hadn’t been since they were first activated, had dug furrows into the soft scrub. Sunstreaker’s hold on his wrist tightened. “I’m fine,” Sideswipe whispered on reflex, knowing full well his brother’s concern.

He was lying. They both knew he was. He couldn’t lift his helm. Couldn’t… Couldn’t just put on an act and pretend that was the truth. He’d always been able to before, no matter what had happened.

But never before had this happened. Evidently there were limits to what even he could fake his way through. 

Sunstreaker didn’t say anything, but let go of his arm to go back to cleaning himself up. They were both clean already though, at least visually. There was nothing more to wash away. No paint transfers, no lubricant, no transfluid. 

Nothing but the _feel_ of it all, and Sideswipe wasn’t sure if that could be washed away. Maybe in a million years they could’ve.

But not so quickly. 

“Hey,” came a familiar voice from behind them and Sideswipe jolted from his thoughts. Both him and Sunstreaker spun on their heels to face Skywarp, Sideswipe with wide optics, Sunstreaker with a _growl._

Skywarp shrunk back a little bit from the aggression aimed at him, but wasn’t wholly discouraged. “Um, I came to see if you needed help washing up, but it looks like you got it already,” the Seeker said. He was clean too, but that wasn’t a surprise considering he hadn’t been in the berthroom anymore when they’d woken up.

Under different circumstances, the offer would’ve been a nice gesture.

Under these circumstances?

“You have some fucking _gall,”_ Sunstreaker hissed. Sideswipe’s ventilations hitched, and he didn’t, couldn’t look at Skywarp, letting his gaze drop again. Sunstreaker stepped up in front of him, between him and the Seeker, and he was angry. He was so angry it was like a physical wall between him and the rest of the world.

Skywarp wasn’t completely blind to the danger and took a step back from Sunstreaker’s righteous fury. And it was righteous. 

_Look at what Skywarp had done._ Right along with the rest of them.

And now he was here, acting like none of it had happened.

This place was so upside down. If it wasn’t for Sunstreaker, Sideswipe thought he might’ve started doubting the whole fabric of reality at this rate. 

_‘Yeah, I participated in your gang rape, but would you like me to help you wash up?’_

Not even an apology. _“You_ and the whole rest in this Primus forsaken place!” Sunstreaker continued, his voice rising until it was nothing short of a bellow. Skywarp took another step back.

Sunstreaker didn’t pursue, but Sideswipe knew the only reason for that was that he didn’t want to leave Sideswipe alone. If it wasn’t him inadvertently holding Sunstreaker back, there would’ve been nothing to save the Seeker from his brother’s wrath.

Justified wrath, if you asked Sideswipe.

“I just thought-” Skywarp tried to say, but Sunstreaker didn’t let him finish.

“Get. _Out,”_ the golden twin snarled instead, pointing at the door. He probably had no rights to order anyone around, yet in the face of the anger directed at him, Skywarp took yet another step back.

“If-” he tried to speak again, and again Sunstreaker cut him off.

“OUT!”

Sideswipe was pretty sure that could be heard all throughout the harem wing, but at least Skywarp finally believed there was nothing he could achieve here, and hurried to the door with just one backwards glance.

He looked… Sad? _Hurt?_

_He had no right._

The few other mates that had been in washracks cleared out quickly after their winged compatriot, sending more glances their way.

And then they were alone.

Sunstreaker’s engine revved, but Sideswipe slumped back against the wall under the still running shower. Numbly he reached for the controls and turned it off—to conserve the amount of solvent used, but what did it matter how much of it was used? _Whose_ solvent was it?

 _Megatron’s._ _Everything_ here was Megatron’s.

Including them.

His vents hitched again at that thought, at the reminder—why Sunstreaker was angry at Skywarp.

The whole fucking mess of it.

 _Skywarp had been a part of it._ And– He hadn’t come to apologize, had he? Unless offering help was his way of apologizing.

But he could’ve _said_ something too. Some acknowledgment that what had happened was so, so wrong. They too _had_ to think it wasn’t right, didn’t they? How could anyone think it was okay? He was pretty sure Megatron knew it was messed up too, but Megatron just enjoyed that fact.

What about the rest of them, though? If Megatron’s behavior could be explained away with just sadism and cruelty, what was the excuse for the others?

Was it going to happen again? Were they, all of them, going to do it again? Turn their audials off to any protests they had, because… What, just because Megatron told them to?

He knew all too well what Megatron was like, already, and they’d barely known him for any amount of time. In that he really… He really couldn’t blame the others for not disobeying him.

But he still didn’t _understand_ it. There was no resistance whatsoever, not even any visible reluctance.

They just did it.

They’d said _no,_ and they just did it.

They might act nice towards them, be helpful, or try to be… Skywarp, Runabout. Aside from Starscream’s weird attitude, no one had been mean towards them.

Aside from last night.

They were just as messed up as the rest of this. How was he even supposed to look at any of them anymore, after what they’d done to them? How was he supposed to look at Starscream and not think of the Seeker’s face or valve right next to him as he serviced Megatron right in front of his optics? Without any signs of hesitation?

Or Skywarp. How he had just… How everyone had just…

How much more of this was there going to be?

When was it going to _end?_

“What are we going to do?” Sideswipe blurted, prompting Sunstreaker to break his angry staring contest with the door. “We need to get the frag _away_ from here.”

Desperate.

Get out.

But how?

_When?_

“We’ll find a way,” Sunstreaker said, _promised,_ turning back to him and wrapping him into a warm and familiar embrace. And Sideswipe wanted to believe. He buried his face in the crook of his twin’s neck, and he wanted so badly to believe that they would find a way out before… Primus, he wasn’t sure. Before what?

How much more of this could he take? What would happen when he couldn’t take it anymore? “We just need to hold out until we do,” Sunstreaker whispered to him, and Sideswipe could feel the shiver in him. Neither of them was unaffected by this. But they were holding it together pretty well, weren’t they? Despite everything.

They’d beat the odds before. They would this time too. Like Sunstreaker said, they’d just need to _survive_ until then. They could do that. 

That thought and the pulse of his brother’s half-spark against his chassis steeled his resolve. It was just them, but that was fine, because it had always been _just them._ And that was all they’d ever needed.

It would be all they needed here too. They would find a way out, and they would do so before it was too late. No, no. It would _never_ be too late. They would just need to be patient and wily, outsmart the cage they were in, undo all of its locks, and steal back their _life._

“Yeah,” he responded to Sunstreaker with no more volume than what Sunstreaker had used, and wrapped his arms around his twin in turn. And he meant it. Maybe… Maybe all they’d need were little moments like these to keep a hold of their sanity until they could break free.

The washrack door opened with the quiet swoosh of a well oiled mechanism and they glanced up in alarm. One of the mates was standing in the doorway, looking a little awkward. Like he didn’t want to be there. “Hey. Sorry about the interruption, but,” and Sideswipe tensed all over, because how could any news borne by their assailants be _good ones?_

His gut was proven right a second later. “Megatron’s summoned you, Sideswipe.

“Alone.”

“What the pit…” Sideswipe whispered, and Sunstreaker growled, his arms tightening around him.

“No,” his brother said. “You can go tell him to _frag off.”_

Sideswipe burrowed into Sunstreaker’s embrace, his spark beginning to flutter faster and faster with the implications.

Alone with Megatron.

It was bad enough with Sunstreaker there, when he could draw strength from his brother and share the experience and the attention. Sure, they were used against each other too, but it was still better to be together. Bearable to be together.

_It was never bearable._

How was he supposed to go without his brother?

His plating was clattering against Sunstreaker’s, but that only made his twin tighten his hold enough that Sideswipe worried their armors would buckle.

And as much as he trusted his brother, as much as he knew Sunstreaker’s desire to protect him from everything and anything… He feared there was nothing Sunstreaker could do to protect him from _this._ Not from Megatron.

That was a terrible, terrible thought. He keened at the inevitability of it all, of the– Of the–

“Please please please no,” he pleaded, looking up at the other mate still standing in the doorway. “Please I can’t– I can’t go through that, not again, not with him– _Please.”_

Tears welled, then fell at the thought of what Megatron could do to him, and oh Primus but there was _so much,_ and he was sure his imagination still couldn’t conjure anything even halfway as awful as what Megatron would think to do. Even with everything that had happened already, no matter how many times and in how many ways they’d already been _raped,_ he was sure Megatron would find new ways to torture and humiliate them.

Him. Just him, if he went alone. _“I can’t,”_ was what it all boiled down to, and he couldn’t even hate how badly his voice cracked when he said that, trying so hard to beg with the newsbringer. Make them _understand._

Their look was sad, pitying. Maybe they did understand.

Maybe they’d been through the same thing.

Maybe they didn’t have a twin to share it all with in the first place.

But they were a _part_ of it. Had been, last night. They’d carry out Megatron’s orders.

And even if they didn’t want to do that, what could they do? Could they really just carry the message back to him, ‘hey, they don’t want to, so I guess this isn’t happening’?

Inevitable. Megatron was inevitable. This was his kingdom and all in it lived to _serve._

Strength left him, and only Sunstreaker’s hold of him kept him up. “Sunny,” he whined, _pathetic,_ but he was beyond caring about his own dignity. As if he even had any left at this point. “I can’t do it, please.”

Sunstreaker understood, if no one else did, and a protective growl rumbled in his brother’s engine. “He won’t get you,” Sunstreaker promised quietly but resolutely—and despite that, Sideswipe could feel Sunstreaker’s uncertainty.

The want to protect was real, so very real, and there wasn’t a single fiber in his twin’s being that wanted to hand him over to their tormentor.

But neither of them knew how to avoid it. What could they do? They were so _powerless_ against the tyrant.

The mate had disappeared from the doorway, but Sideswipe didn’t feel even a moment’s relief at that fact. And he was right. A moment later two guards and _Starscream_ entered, the Seeker following behind the black clad mechs. “Our Master doesn’t make _requests,”_ he said, sounding annoyed, like this all was just an inconvenience to him. The guards came for them, but Sunstreaker positioned himself between them and him, and Sideswipe cringed further against his chassis.

_Inevitable._

“Resistance is futile.” Starscream’s words sounded like they came from a mile away with the way panic began to pound in his audials, but there the Seeker was, echoing thoughts they’d already had.

Turning them into hard truths.

He was frozen in place when the guards took a hold of Sunstreaker and forcibly pulled him away despite his cursing, but without his brother there, fight or flight took over.

He chose flight.

Sideswipe bolted for the doorway the Seeker blissfully wasn’t blocking, through it and into the hallway, and–

And then he didn’t know where to go. Where could he go that would get him away from his fate?

There was further ruckus coming from the washracks behind him, and some other mates either hanging out in the hallway or on their way to here or there looked at him, but Sideswipe didn’t acknowledge them. He didn’t know what to do.

Until the sounds behind him got closer, the fields of the guards, and he took his legs under him again and dashed to the main doors leading in and out of the wing.

What did he do that for?

They were locked, as they had been before. The guards on this side having left them hadn’t changed that fact. Of course it hadn’t. 

And he had nowhere else to go.

“Leave him alone!” Sunstreaker yelled behind him, his voice registering dimly but enough that Sideswipe cast one panicked look over his shoulder.

There were mecha peeking through the doorways, curious over what all the fuss was about. There was Sunstreaker, struggling against Starscream’s hold, but unable to break it. Held back. “Sideswipe! You fragging dronebrains, _leave him alone!”_

And there were the guards, headed straight for Sideswipe. 

_Give up?_

No. That wasn’t an option. He wouldn’t just willingly subject himself to this.

_He deserved better._

He had value, he had rights. This was wrong.

Megatron was wrong. 

“Get away from me!” His voice was still shrill when he cornered himself against the grand doors. As ever, the guards offered no reaction, too intent on following their orders to the letter _no matter what._ What Sideswipe wanted was of no consequence when pitted against what _Megatron_ wanted. 

It wasn’t right!

The hallway was big, but it wasn’t big enough. When he made one last desperate attempt to get past the guards— _and to where? The rest of the harem wing, only to be cornered again?—_ they only had to reach to get a hold of him, and the grip was like a vice. 

“No!” He struggled all the same, but they merely caught him arm apiece, and push-dragged him towards the doors. “Let go of me! You- _Don’t!”_

He didn’t want to go through those doors. Not like this. He fought, he fought so hard, and he could hear Sunstreaker’s angry and fearful yells, and feel the way Starscream’s claws sank into his armor to keep him in place.

Just until they were through the doors and they closed behind him and the two guards with a decisive slam.

His ventilations came fast and hard and there was no willing them into a calmer pace, not when his spark was a whirlwind of fright and desperation. He offered none of his cooperation, but the guards were big and burly and didn’t give a damn about his struggles. He was marched through the halls and past the other doors until they came to _those_ ones.

The ones he was going to have nightmares about for the rest of his life, most likely.

They opened to admit them to the bleak interior of Megatron’s wing, but where Sideswipe had expected to be merely shoved in to find a place to hide and postpone what couldn’t be avoided, the guards instead pulled him further into the wing.

And further, and further, all the way to the lounge at the end of the hallway.

Megatron was waiting, big and imposing despite the fact he was presently sitting on one of the couches with a cube of energon in one servo, a lit datapad in the other. He glanced up when they entered, his optics brightening with… Pleasure? Glee? Anticipation? Greed? 

No matter what it was, Sideswipe wanted nothing to do with it.

“Ah, good, you’re here,” the tyrant said as he set the cube down on the table in front of him and subspaced his datapad. It was so _conversational,_ the way he said it, like there was any damn way Sideswipe would’ve come here voluntarily.

Like there were any faint traces of cordiality or rapport between them.

As if they could have normal conversations.

A flick of Megatron’s servo as he rose to his pedes, and the guards let go of Sideswipe, turned around, and left. The door closed behind them, and Sideswipe doubted it would open again anytime soon.

And once again he was the target of Megatron’s focus, except this time there was nothing and no one to function as a buffer between them. Or as a distraction. Or… Anything.

Now there was nothing but the weight of those red optics staring down at him and making him feel so small and vulnerable.

Which he was, when compared to Megatron.

“Where’s your brother?” Megatron asked, but with the way he grinned when he said that, Sideswipe knew Megatron knew _exactly_ where Sunstreaker was.

He was just toying with him.

Sideswipe responded anyway. “You only wanted me,” he said, trying and failing to keep his voice strong and steady.

Sunstreaker might’ve managed that feat.

He wasn’t Sunstreaker.

He was scared out of his wits without his brother. His voice betrayed him completely on that front, wavering and shaking, but he still hoped even some of his resolve remained and shone through—even one remnant of his belief that Megatron wasn’t within his rights to do this, no matter what the mech seemed to think. 

But _no one_ had the rights to do any of this to another living being. Not even the unquestioned ruler of Kaon.

“That I did,” Megatron said, sounding decidedly pleased. “Come. We have much to do.” Again there was a flick of his digits and the expectation that that was all the order Sideswipe would need, as it was all the order everyone else seemed to need.

“No,” was what he said instead, planting his pedes, raising his chin, and keeping his voice steady.

Just for the duration of that single word, but it was better than nothing, wasn’t it?

“No?” the tyrant asked, his amusement palpable. “I see. What would you like to do instead?”

Games. The damn megalomaniac was playing _games_ with him, and Sideswipe’s spark spun wildly, but every moment spent pretending Megatron was in any way interested in what he wanted was one less moment spent doing what _Megatron_ wanted.

“I would like to go home,” Sideswipe said, and his voice was shivering again.

“...Please,” he tacked on after a beat.

You know, just to be polite. Couldn’t hurt.

“Home?” Megatron mused, bending to pick his cube back up and… _Sipping_ from it. As they talked.

So casual.

Sideswipe didn’t feel so casual. He swallowed, hard, but the dreadful anxiety didn’t lessen or go anywhere. Of course it didn’t.

“I hear you were guttermechs, you and your brother,” the grey mech continued while Sideswipe just stood there, with nowhere to go and nothing to say that would change the course of this. And no matter what Megatron said now, Sideswipe was sure it wouldn’t change anything. He was just toying with him.

And having fun while at it, by all appearances. “Do you even have anything to go back to?”

“Yes,” Sideswipe answered, and it was true.

There wasn’t a whole lot, he could admit that much. They hadn’t had a lot.

But they’d had _enough._

“Really? Did you have everything you do _now?”_ Games, games, games! Megatron knew what he was doing, and he was enjoying himself. There was that gleam in his optic, the caress of a smile on his lips.

Sideswipe didn’t want to play this game.

“You should _thank_ me.”

For a moment he couldn’t believe what he heard. How had he– Why had he expected Megatron wouldn’t go there? Was there anything the tyrant wouldn’t do, any trick in the book he wouldn’t use?

But did he mean it? Sideswipe didn’t know. Maybe his view of reality was so warped that he did mean it, that he was functioning under the delusion that this was somehow an improvement.

It _wasn’t,_ and damn him if he was _ever_ going to be thankful for the abduction and the rape that Megatron seemed to be the base cause of.

Megatron’s orders, Megatron’s desires. _“Never,”_ Sideswipe hiss-growled in a way that was more at home on Sunstreaker’s vocalizer. He could grasp anger now, his servos balling into fists.

That was the only answer there was to _stupid_ suggestions like that.

“Hmh.” Megatron, so noncommittal, but with one more gulp he emptied his cube and dispersed it.

And Sideswipe’s anger deflated, burst by the spike of fear that thought it knew their little chat was over and they were about to get down to business. 

That fear was joined by the fear that the _other_ fear was correct when Megatron began to approach him, and how much fear was that?

A lot, Sideswipe concluded, because his knees nearly buckled from it and he _barely_ managed to stumble away from the tyrant’s approach. His spark was spinning faster than it ever might’ve before. He hadn’t feared a great many things before. Maybe he should’ve, but he hadn’t.

And he’d never feared anything like he feared Megatron.

Megatron didn’t take offense in his escape this time either, and pits but Sideswipe wished he would’ve. It might’ve broken the aura of smug superiority and full control that surrounded the larger mech—compare that to Sideswipe, barely staying upright on weak legs, tripping over himself in his hurry to keep distance between them.

It was a doomed effort, like it had been all the times before. Slowly but surely—like he was drawing things out just for the sake of it—Megatron cornered him and snatched him by the arm before unceremoniously dragging him to the berthroom. That door closed too, once they were through it, and then he was once again tossed onto a massive berth. Megatron followed him onto it, but slowly enough that Sideswipe had the time to scoot to its furthest corner.

Out of reach.

Not that Megatron cared. Oh no, the tyrant had entirely different plans that apparently didn’t involve chasing Sideswipe around any more at all. Because Megatron merely settled himself onto the other end of the berth and spread his legs in invitation, that damn amusement in his optics when Sideswipe’s gaze passed between them and the dark crotch. “Coax it out.”

Sideswipe balked. _“What?”_

“Coax it out,” Megatron repeated patiently like the benevolent leader he _wasn’t._

Did he really expect it? He was _there_ and Sideswipe was _here,_ and he wasn’t in range to _force_ him. 

Did he think Sideswipe would do it _willingly?_

He almost felt offended. “No!” he said, drawing his knees up and _glaring_ at their captor. The whole situation was absurd enough that some of the anxiety melted away from sheer disbelief–

But it was quickly replaced by the fearful expectation of what Megatron’s plan here was. He had to have one beyond just expecting Sideswipe to do as he was told like a _good little mech._

Everyone else might’ve done it, followed Megatron’s every word and gesture, but _he_ fragging well wouldn’t.

That fear gained more fuel when Megatron still didn’t take the bait and merely said an even, “You will.”

And… Did or said no more than that. Sideswipe waited, a tense ball of nerves, but nothing happened.

Absolutely nothing.

Well, beyond Megatron shifting his attention away from him entirely. He pulled a datapad from his subspace and focused on it instead, leaving Sideswipe to wait.

And wait.

And wait.

* * *

_Hours_ passed. At some point Megatron got off the berth and moved to his desk, and by all appearances set to work on… What did tyrants even do for a living, besides ordering others around and creatively tormenting them? Sideswipe had no idea.

And Sideswipe… He was left to wait, there, at one end and one corner of the berth, with his knees drawn so tight to his chest and a pit of ever deepening confusion in his tanks. 

_You will._ That sounded like a threat and a promise rolled into one, but as much as he already knew Megatron to be capable of, he had no idea how he planned to achieve this one thing when he didn’t look like he was planning to use his own frame to get it, this time. What did he expect to happen? For Sideswipe to suddenly change his mind? Out of boredom maybe?

Because he was bored. Anxious, but bored. He was prone to that to begin with and had always had bigger thrills than Sunstreaker just to keep himself satisfied.

And now he was left with nothing more to do than sit and stare at another mech’s back.

It didn’t sit too well with him, but it was _far_ from making him desperate enough for something to do that he would’ve magically begun to want to service _Megatron_ of all mecha. Or really anyone, at this point in time.

Everything was still too fresh for him to want anything to do with interfacing anytime soon.

And although he wasn’t forced to interface right then, Sideswipe only felt a modicum of relief. Sure, the _present_ could’ve been worse, but he feared the future would be even worse than what the present could’ve been if things had at all gone like he’d expected them to. Megatron had a plan and an intent, there was no doubt about that even if Sideswipe had no idea what it was.

But the end goal at least had been made clear already: for Sideswipe to interface with him, presumably without too much force being involved.

If that was it, it was under his control, and it was an easy promise to make to himself and the world that he wouldn’t do it.

No matter what it came down to.

As long as Sunstreaker remained unharmed, but Sunstreaker wasn’t even here.

Why didn’t he feel so certain despite his desire to stand strong? Why did he trust Megatron to have too many trump cards that he wouldn’t be able to counter?

He could’ve taken it as a moment’s respite, but it didn’t feel like respite at all. Just a truckload of _uncertainty_ over what the future would bring. 

He stayed right where he was for what felt like an eternity while Megatron tapped away on his datapads. And then…

Then Megatron got up and _left._

Sideswipe stilled in utter confusion when the door closed behind the tyrant and he was left alone in the damn mech’s berthroom.

He didn’t want to be alone there, even without Megatron present. 

Yet he was, without exactly any say in the matter.

What the _pit_ was going on?

And if he’d thought he’d been bored before, without even the stimulation of watching someone working—and that wasn’t exactly good entertainment either—he thought he was quickly driven towards insanity. He didn’t dare move though, just in case that would’ve summoned his harrower. Somehow. He sort of doubted there were cameras in Megatron’s personal quarters, but what did he know. Maybe the mech just really liked leaving his _mates_ alone here, only to watch them squirm through some hidden cameras.

But Sideswipe wasn’t squirming. Sideswipe wasn’t really doing anything, in fact. Well, besides just… _Waiting._ Waiting for Megatron’s return, waiting for what would happen next, waiting for what kind of torture the future would bring. 

He waited for a very long time. It was closer to a half an _orn_ before he could hear pedesteps on the other side of the door and tensed all over from the light doze he had entered just to pass the time. Conflicted emotions followed right after, boredom warring with fear over whether it was better there was another living being to look at to have something to _do,_ or if he’d rather not have Megatron _anywhere_ near him.

The latter was winning by the time the door opened to admit the big mech. He strode in like he owned the place—which he did—and landed his optics on Sideswipe. The door closed behind him, and Sideswipe felt as trapped as he ever had.

Was _this_ it? Had Megatron’s patience ran out and now he would just pin him down and rape him? At this point that might’ve even been relief, something _familiar_ in the place of whatever this was.

But instead of coming for him directly, Megatron again climbed onto the berth and stayed well out of reach. He spread his legs, and then he gave the order again. “Coax it out.”

Sideswipe shook his helm. No. He still wasn’t about to do that. What had Megatron expected to achieve by leaving him alone for a time? _Cooperation?_

No _fucking_ way. 

Megatron waited for a time, gave him a chance to reconsider… And then _moved._ Sideswipe expected the worst the moment the tyrant came towards him and he bolted off the berth, but instead of pursuing him, Megatron merely…

Reclined. The fragger reclined on his berth like he was about to go to recharge.

And when his systems began to cycle down, Sideswipe realized that was exactly what he was doing.

_What the pit?_

It was like he didn’t even care Sideswipe was there, standing on the floor of his berthroom, watching him go to sleep. Did he think it was _safe,_ that Sideswipe wouldn’t do anything to him while he was out of it and vulnerable?

Except… Was he vulnerable? Was a mech like Megatron ever vulnerable? Was he dumb enough to shut down all of his systems for recharge, or did he leave enough on to royally mess Sideswipe up if he got too close or _tried_ anything?

Greater mecha than him had probably tried to off the tyrant, but here Megatron was still. What chances did Sideswipe have against him? And there were two ways that could go. Either Megatron would just be amused, or he would take offense and… Kill him in retaliation? That wouldn’t surprise him.

He didn’t want to die here. Not in Megatron’s berthroom, not in this tower, not in Kaon.

He didn’t want to die at all.

It wasn’t a risk he was willing to take and not a price he was willing to pay for the slim chance he could _end_ Megatron. And… Even if he did manage that, what did he expect to happen? He doubted Megatron’s lackeys would be too pleased.

No, there was no way that could’ve ended well for Sideswipe. It wouldn’t end well for him if he _didn’t_ do anything, but at least by not doing anything he had the chances to get out of Megatron’s wing, return to Sunstreaker, and return to their escape plots. 

He wouldn’t be able to escape if he was dead.

He still didn’t understand what Megatron was doing, though, but he feared he would learn the answer sooner or later, and that he wouldn’t like it. While Megatron was recharging though… Sideswipe didn’t think he would be catching any recharge himself, not with Megatron there. He didn’t want to let his guard down, even for a moment.

There was no way that would’ve led to anything good. 

Sideswipe glanced around him at the spartan room. Megatron had made sure not to leave any datapads behind when he left, and there was nothing more to explore now either. If he even would’ve dared to snoop around while Megatron was recharging a couple of steps away.

So… Now what? He’d escaped interfacing for the time being, but he still didn’t know what the game they were playing was, and he still had absolutely nothing to do.

With a quiet huff Sideswipe backed up until his back hit one of the bleak walls, then carefully slid down it to sit on the floor, pulling his knees back to his chassis. 

More waiting. A lot more waiting, listening to the peaceful whirr and rumble of Megatron’s systems. The sounds would’ve been soothing if they’d belonged to someone else, but coming from Megatron they only put Sideswipe on edge and made it impossible to forget where he was. He didn’t want to familiarize himself with the sounds of the tyrant’s recharging frame.

But here he was.

He didn’t full on recharge himself, not for the whole of Megatron’s recharge cycle, but he did enter a light doze like before. Not because he was particularly tired, but just to have _something_ to pass the time with.

They were long, long hours that he anxiously waited for Megatron to awaken, and see what that brought with it. It gave his mind far too much time to work over all the unpleasant things that might await him in his unfortunate future, concoct all sorts of possibilities, each one more terrible than the one before.

And he feared Megatron would live up to all of it, somehow.

How had one mech become the biggest boogeyman he’d ever known?

Megatron woke up no sooner and no later than what suited him. Sideswipe snapped out of his thoughts the moment the sounds of the tyrant’s systems changed and started to ramp up again, signaling his return to full awareness. It was a short process with no time wasted, just the steady climb from recharge to everyday functioning. Soon Megatron was already sitting up and _stretching_ like Sideswipe would’ve expected from any mech.

But it looked so wrong coming from the sadistic dictator that had no right to remind him of the common folk that _didn’t_ go around kidnapping and raping others.

It didn’t take longer than that for Megatron to take notice of him, though, and Sideswipe pressed tighter against the wall at his back when the tyrant’s red gaze zeroed in on him. “Sleep well?” Megatron asked.

Sideswipe’s lips drew back in a snarl.

Megatron didn’t laugh, but it looked like it was a close thing. “Come here and coax it out,” he gave the order once again, patting the berth in invitation.

“Slag you!” Sideswipe growled back at him and decidedly _didn’t_ go over to fragging _coax it out._

“Suit yourself,” the tyrant said genteelly before getting up from the berth and leaving the whole room.

The door clicked shut behind him, and Sideswipe was alone all over again.

This didn’t make any damn sense. “Why doesn’t he just…” he murmured to himself, trying to make sense of the mix of emotions his spark was pulsing with. On one hand, relief that he wasn’t getting raped like he’d gotten a lot recently.

But on the other he just… Wanted it _over_ with. It would hurt, and he’d hate it, but afterwards he could return to the harem wing, to _Sunstreaker,_ and hug his brother, and listen to him hear say they’d get out yet.

He didn’t want this _waiting._ Waiting for Megatron to unleash his cruelty, waiting for the suffering, the pain, the humiliation. 

_Get it over with._

It’d only hurt for a while. And on the other side… There might just be a moment to gather himself back together before the next time he’d need to survive Megatron’s attentions.

But this?

“Fuck this,” Sideswipe whispered, his servos finding their way to his helmet and cradling it.

* * *

Again he sat, and he waited, and again it was such a long, long time before Megatron deemed to return. Sideswipe didn’t even want to count the hours.

“Coax it out.”

He refused.

Megatron didn’t force him.

Megatron sat at his desk, drank his energon, and worked, and Sideswipe sat on the chilly floor, against the wall, and watched him because he had nothing better to do. 

Another recharge cycle Megatron slept peacefully on his berth. Sideswipe remained on the floor, tense and anxious, but not as tense and anxious as before.

He hated that. He didn’t want to get used to Megatron’s presence, but his emotions were tiring him to the point of dulling when nothing bad happened.

Another morning, another order, another time he didn’t do as he was told.

Another time Megatron left him alone while he went off to who knew where.

This time Sideswipe got up and went to the door, experimentally testing if it was locked or if he could maybe even get to the lounge on the other side.

But it was locked. He was not only held prisoner in Kaon and the palace, but now in Megatron’s _berthroom_ too. 

_What did he want?_ For him to just… Was it all he wanted that Sideswipe would go to him and do as he was told? Was that all?

“Frag off with that,” he muttered as he turned from the door and crawled under the berth, all the way to the center where he could be sure Megatron wouldn’t be able to reach him. He curled up there and tried to get some real recharge in the spell of peace and quiet when Megatron wasn’t present.

And tried to ignore his slowly depleting fuel levels.

* * *

When Megatron returned that night, he halted right at the door, probably because he couldn’t see Sideswipe right away. Sideswipe tensed, but it wasn’t like his spark or energy signatures had gone anywhere. In short order Megatron had fully stepped into the room, walked over to the berth, and crouched down to see under it.

Sideswipe met his optics.

Megatron _smiled_ at him.

Sideswipe growled.

But Megatorn said nothing, and did nothing else, only stood back up and went to his desk. He had energon with him again. Sideswipe could hear the cube hit the desk every so often after Megatron took a drink from it before setting it back down.

And although Sideswipe wasn’t exactly exerting himself, his frame was still using his energon reserves for simple functioning. The decline was slow, but steady.

He wondered if Megatron had any plans to give him fuel.

Probably not.

* * *

Orns. Straight up orns. 

He stayed under the berth stubbornly, ignoring the cold wafting from the floor, barely warmed by the heat of his frame. In fact, putting those two against each other, it was his frame that was cooling rather than the floor warming.

He didn’t move much either, and his cables were getting stiff, but he didn’t dare do anything that would’ve earned Megatron’s attentions. As it was the tyrant only crouched to take a look at him and _smile_ at him right after he returned from spending the day who knew where doing who knew what dictator things. He didn’t say anything and wouldn’t try to get him to come out from under the berth, but Sideswipe knew what was hanging in the air between them despite their silence.

_Coax it out._

That was what he was supposed to do. What would happen if he did? Yeah, no doubt there’d be interfacing he wanted absolutely nothing to do with, but… What about after?

Would he get to go back to Sunstreaker?

Primus, but he missed his brother. He was bored out of his mind, but more importantly than that... He just wanted his twin’s embrace and the comfort of a frame near identical to his own, of a spark that was a half of his own.

He could really use a hug right about now, honestly.

Because he didn’t know what to do. Time passed, but Megatron showed no signs of planning to let him leave, or of offering some fuel to him. And his fuel meter, it was lowering to uncomfortable readings. He’d already used up a large portion of his reserves during the orgy, and hadn’t had the time to replenish them.

How far would Megatron let things go? Until he went to stasis?

Would he leave him to rust under his berth? His reward for his determination?

Was it worth it? He wanted to see Sunstreaker again. He wanted to have the chance to leave this hellhole for good. A chance to reclaim his life.

He wouldn’t get that if he became forgotten under a tyrant’s berth.

But what he would need to do to get out of here… _Pits._ There was no winning. He got to choose between two kinds of _damned,_ that was all. 

He wanted Sunstreaker here, so, so badly. He didn’t want to do this alone, be here alone.

Sideswipe curled up tighter as Megatron settled down for another recharge cycle above him. His HUD was blinking a fitful warning at him, beseeching him to fuel soon before he became too weak to do so. Hunger was gnawing at his tanks, near empty by now. He had little more than the energon in his lines, and that was losing charge steadily. It wouldn’t be too long before there wasn’t enough of it there to power his engines.

And if he couldn’t power his engines, he wouldn’t be able to move. Then what?

Best case scenario was that Megatron would have him pulled out from under the berth and refueled, but that would only land him back to square one. This wasn’t even a game of wills anymore, if it ever had been. It didn’t matter how much willpower he had. Even if he had _enough,_ he’d just lose another way.

Inevitable.

His fate was coming for him whether he liked it or not. There was no way out that didn’t involve doing Megatron’s bidding.

When would he give in?

Was it just a matter of time?

He tried to quiet his sob and drew his field in even tighter than it had already been. Megatron didn’t need to know how he was feeling.

He didn’t need to know he was winning.

* * *

Two more orns. He held on for two more orns, cold, lonely, bored out of his fucking mind, but still preferring that to the future he feared.

Despair. The warning on his HUD had gotten upgraded in priority and was nearing critical. Stasis or _pleasing_ Megatron, those were his two options. He couldn’t see any others.

When Megatron came back that night, he crouched at the end of the berth as was usual by now, and Sideswipe met his optics, knowing his own were dimming.

“Are you hungry?” Megatron asked and brought a cube to his view. Sideswipe’s throat constricted at the promise of much needed fuel. His frame demanded him to take it, to avoid being forced into stasis.

Into being completely helpless.

As if he wasn’t that even when his tanks were full.

“You must be,” the tyrant continued with a tone of fake _kindness,_ like he actually gave a damn about Sideswipe’s wellbeing.

He just cared about how he could get Sideswipe to do what he wanted. How to make him like everyone else in that regard.

And it was working. Sideswipe closed his optics and entertained defeat. He wouldn’t last another orn. It was now or never if he didn’t want to choose stasis over Megatron’s clutches.

He just wanted back to Sunstreaker. What was he doing except drawing things out at this point? He couldn’t win. There was no reality where he would get his way and get out of here without going through Megatron first. 

Without doing what Megatron wanted of him, first. 

He would… He would just have to keep that in mind. He was doing this for Sunstreaker, for their reunion. Not for himself, and definitely not for Megatron.

For Sunstreaker.

He closed his optics tighter. The words hurt when they came out– “What do you want from me?” 

–But the approving pulse in Megatron’s field hurt even more.

“Come out and see.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, the good stuff is in the next chapter.


	7. Entertain You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, I did not have this chapter prewritten. I can't say that's the most I've ever written in a single day, but it's up there.
> 
> Worth it though. I had fun with this, I hope you will too.
> 
> See the end notes for the short rundown of the questionable content that goes down in this chapter.

This was it.

Defeated, demoralized, and hating himself every step of the way, Sideswipe crawled back out from under the berth. Megatron stepped out of his way.

The bright of the room after the gloom of the berth’s underside had him squinting before his optics adjusted as he straightened to his full and utterly lacking height. In Iacon, he hadn’t been short. He was pretty tall by Iaconian standards, actually.

Not so in Kaon. Just… Just their first day here had proven that, and Megatron only further drove the point home.

Even standing straight, his helm came to the tyrant’s _hip,_ and no higher.

Sideswipe fought to urge to keep his optics downcast and instead tilted his helm all the way back to stare up at the significantly larger mech. Megatron wasn’t smiling right then, but that didn’t remove the traces of amusement from his features.

Again, Megatron had won. They both knew it, but Sideswipe tried to hold onto the shreds of his beaten and bloodied pride and not act like the loser.

Even if that was exactly what he was. 

But he didn’t want to be weak. He didn’t want to show his fear, he didn’t want to show the depth of the despair that was overtaking him.

He didn’t want to give Megatron the satisfaction of seeing him like that.

“So?” Sideswipe asked then, trying to aim for insolent, just to get on the mech’s nerves. Just to cover up his fear.

_Now what?_

It didn’t really work out like he was hoping it would. Megatron cocked an optical ridge at him before straightening, and pits but Sideswipe had thought the tyrant _was_ standing straight already.

He was mistaken, and suddenly Megatron loomed even larger and more imposing above him. “It’s time you learned to address me properly,” Megatron said, and it was a near thing that Sideswipe didn’t shrink away from the weight of his voice and his… _Presence._

He wasn’t completely unfamiliar with the mechs who could take control of an entire room just by _existing._ He had… Had had an air about himself too. Not one of dominance, but of fun. Mecha had paid attention to him because he was smiles and laughter and cheer.

And Sunstreaker could do the same with confidence and elegance that had no place on a guttermech.

But Megatron. He blanketed the whole room with sheer _preeminence._ He was bigger, he was stronger, he was badder than anyone else could be. No one could compare or challenge him, and he knew it. He was ready to prove it.

He did that with just the straightening of his back and a change of his tone of voice, and if Sideswipe was anyone lesser, he would’ve quaked under the strength of it. He had to fight the urge to take a step back.

No weakness. He _wouldn’t_ reward Megatron with the sight of him cowering before him.

It all almost distracted from Megatron’s words themselves. _Almost._ They were a bit of an afterthought, but they did catch up, and the moment they did… Sideswipe didn’t like the implications at all. His engine found the strength to growl where he stood and stared up at the dictator, dominator, but Megatron wasn’t put off.

His optics. Primus, Sideswipe didn’t want to have them focused on him like this. There was something baleful about them, the look of someone who wouldn’t _hesitate_ to put others to their place. 

And now it was Sideswipe’s turn to step in line, wasn’t it?

Because it was that or stasis, and for some Primus damned reason he’d chosen this over stasis.

He was regretting that decision already, but… _Sunstreaker._

He did this for Sunstreaker, for their chance to be together again, to _escape_ together. Make it out of here and to a place where they wouldn’t have to play a despot’s sick games.

He just had to remember that, no matter how hard it got.

No matter how thoroughly his pride would be trampled.

“You are to address me as _Master,_ or _my Lord,”_ Megatron went on to say. Sideswipe was rooted in place, feeling like he was going to sink into the floor from the weight of the tyrant’s unwavering focus. He swallowed, a nervous little gesture, but he couldn’t avert his optics.

Couldn’t.

“What do you say?” he was prompted.

Sideswipe shook his helm. He would’ve begged, but his vocoder wouldn’t produce any words.

Begged for Megatron to not make him do this. That would’ve been humiliating enough, but he didn’t– He couldn’t–

Even if he didn’t mean it, even if it was just _words,_ he didn’t want to address Megatron like that. He didn’t want to show him the _respect,_ no matter how fake and empty. 

Megatron didn’t _deserve_ it. 

One of the grey mech’s servos seized him by the chin, the grip of those clawed digits by far tight enough to function as a warning.

And a reminder. “What do you say?” Megatron repeated, with more weight behind the words this time around. He’d shown a lot of patience in waiting Sideswipe out, waiting for his resistance to crumble, but now…

For Sunstreaker. He did this for Sunstreaker.

It was this or stasis. _This_ or further separation from his twin.

...He stalled too long. The grip tightened.

Sideswipe bit back a keen that had nothing to do with physical pain.

What did he say when he was cornered and out of options?

What did he say for the chance to have a cube of energon?

What did he say for an opportunity to stave off stasis by starvation?

What did he say to show Megatron had _won?_

What could he barely bring himself to say despite all that?

“...Yes, my Lord.”

It was barely above a whisper, but Megatron released the hold on his chin and instantly Sideswipe’s helm dropped, his gaze hazy as it was directed to Megatron’s pedes.

He didn’t want to feel so defeated. He didn’t want Megatron to see how close to _tears_ he was already. Megatron was very quickly setting the tone of what was going to follow all of this, now that Sideswipe had… Made his decision.

_Given in._

Because he had been robbed of options by the decree of the mech standing in front of him now.

“Climb on the berth.”

There was no amusement in Megatron’s voice anymore, and Sideswipe flinched, barely keeping himself from glancing up in alarm. _Why the change?_

What did this mean?

But if Megatron’s amusement before had given them enough guts to test his limits—without finding them—the lack of it made Sideswipe _really_ not want to test those limits. He only hesitated for the length of one spark pulse before he turned and hauled himself up onto the berth about as high as he was tall. Megatron followed him, but didn’t grab him. Didn’t touch him.

Sideswipe moved out of reach, as little as he thought he would be able to keep that distance between them. Maybe Megatron wouldn’t physically force him this time around, he’d shown no inclination towards it, but…

But he couldn’t forget or ignore the fact his fuel reserves were at a dangerously low level, and Megatron was the only one who had the power to do something about it.

He didn’t dare _ask_ for fuel, though. Megatron knew he needed it, and Sideswipe was sure Megatron knew how _badly_ he needed it. Asking things of him, especially now that Megatron was apparently done playing around, just… Didn’t seem very smart.

He hadn’t gotten this far only to get beheaded now. He hadn’t suffered only to fail at this stage.

Megatron didn’t approach him, but like he had before, he spread his legs in a clear as day invitation that spoke volumes of what he wanted of Sideswipe, even before he spoke. “Coax it out.”

How many times had he already heard those words? How many times had he _refused?_

Oh how badly he wanted to refuse this time too. Sideswipe’s servos balled into fists in his lap and he couldn’t bring himself to meet Megatron’s expectant gaze. His head felt light, and not just from the lack of energon. His emotions were at a bloody war with his rarely utilized cold sensibility. One wanted him to tell Megatron to go kiss his own ass–

The other reminded him of the things one sometimes needed to do in the name of survival.

And this was about survival.

_“Now.”_

Time ran out. It was now, or… He wasn’t sure what the other option was anymore, if at this stage Megatron would’ve just let him fall into stasis, or if it would’ve been something worse. Either way, he didn’t want it, not when it was guaranteed to mean he wouldn’t be able to get to see Sunstreaker again as soon as possible.

The sooner he got back to the harem wing, the sooner they could continue with finding a way out.

_The sooner he’d have his twin’s comfort._

Now. Now or never. Sideswipe cycled a single steadying ventilation before he forced his shaking frame into motion, emotion and ever mounting physical weakness stripping the steadiness from his limbs. He made his way to Megatron, between… Between his thighs, until he was staring down at the massive mech’s tightly closed spike cover.

Coax it out.

“H-how–” _How do you want it?_

But before he had even stammered his way through that sentence, Megatron had already responded. “Your choice.”

It wasn’t kindness. It was just a test. What would he do when given free reign over how he chose to _pleasure_ the tyrant. 

_Make it good, or else._

Sideswipe nodded his understanding mutely, but that wasn’t enough for Megatron. Before he could do anything else, a dangerous servo had already closed on his chin all over again, forcing him to tilt his helm back, look up, meet Megatron’s optics. “What do you say?”

 _Not again._ “Please don’t–” _Don’t make him say it again._

But he wasn’t given the chance to finish that sentence either. “A-a-aa,” Megatron tutted him, and his grip tightened—all over again. _“What do you say, Sideswipe?”_

This time there was nothing he could do to stop his keen, his optics begging, _begging_ the tyrant for just one little sliver of mercy, for just the permission to not do _this one thing…_

Megatron’s sharpened thumb pressed against Sideswipe’s bottom lip, and a tear fell free from the corner of his left optic—rolling down the seam on his cheek.

_“Yes, my Lord.”_

That was all it took to crush his spark a little bit further... And all it took to satisfy Megatron. The servo fell from his jaw and a single nod was given. His go ahead.

His _‘don’t dawdle’._

Coax it out.

Then what?

He would find out.

 _He didn’t want to._ He didn’t want to do _any_ of this, but he was robbed of options, wasn’t he?

He couldn’t vent properly, every invent and every exvent shuddering so badly, but he knew Megatron wouldn’t accept anything less than his cooperation, anymore. What would even happen in the event he changed his mind and decided this wasn’t worth it?

But this was worth it. _He wanted to see Sunstreaker again._

It had to be worth it.

Before Megatron’s patience had the time to run out, Sideswipe scooted back a bit and lowered himself. Just… Pretend it was any of his friends or random berth partners that he _wanted_ to have a good time with, that he wanted to make feel good. 

And not the mech that had torn everything from them only to rape and subjugate them over and over again. 

Primus, he- He didn’t want to do _anything_ for him. He didn’t want to please Megatron in any shape or form. He just wanted to _fight_ and have a chance to win too.

But he didn’t have that.

 _Resistance is futile._ That was what Starscream had said, and Megatron was proving him correct with everything he did. All of their struggles, for nothing. Megatron would get his way in the end.

As he did now.

Sideswipe couldn’t look, he didn’t want to look, so he closed his optics a second or two before he pressed a first kiss on Megatron’s spike cover.

Pretend it was someone else, _anyone_ else.

Coax it out. Like he’d do to a partner he had picked.

 _He couldn’t forget._ He couldn’t pretend.

He had to do it anyway.

More tears ran down his cheeks, but Sideswipe set about the task demanded of him. It wasn’t like he didn’t know _how._ He’d always been the promiscuous type. He’d loved interfacing and trying out new things, learning how to give and receive pleasure.

But never before all this had it been so one sided.

The kiss morphed into a lick. He laved his glossa over the vast panel, probing at the seams at the edges of it.

Trying to please, trying to pleasure. Not because he wanted to, but because he _had_ to. Megatron kept his servos off of him, didn’t touch him in any way, didn’t _force_ him–

Except he did. He did force him. Not physically, but… He didn’t agree to this.

Or did he? He could’ve picked stasis, but instead he’d chosen this. He’d agreed to it. He’d had another option, that he’d _chosen_ not to take.

He had chosen this instead, hadn’t he?

But it wasn’t really a choice at all, was it? He’d picked between two infinitely _bad_ options.

It didn’t mean he wanted this. It just meant he thought it would get him to his goals.

He brushed his lips along the cover and weaseled one of his servos into the game too, carefully pressing his claws into the next to nonexistent seams around Megatron’s hip and thigh armor. He stayed mindful of the newfound sharpness of his digits as he so cautiously tested if Megatron liked that manner of intrusion, the stimulation of more sensitive parts of his frame.

It wasn’t like Sideswipe would be able to do any _proper_ damage even if he’d wanted to. Megatron’s armor was thick, thicker than anything Sideswipe had come this close to, and it was flawlessly designed to cover and protect anything truly important. The most he could do was cause some discomfort.

And he highly doubted Megatron would allow him to do even that much without severely punishing him for it. He didn’t want that. It wouldn’t get him any closer to getting back to Sunstreaker. Just further from it, if anything.

Please Megatron. That was his only way out.

And he tried, he really tried despite his mounting revulsion. Despite his tears, all the other signs of _I don’t want to_ that Megatron completely ignored and gave no fucks about. He could feel the panel heat slowly under his administrations, and Megatron’s engine revved a few times. So he was on the right track.

Why didn’t he feel at all happy about that?

How could he feel happy about it, knowing what it would most likely lead to still?

Kisses, licks, careful drags of his claws. Megatron shifted, to get more comfortable it seemed like, and left him to do all the work. No guidance whatsoever besides the physical signs that he was getting somewhere. Would he have _wanted_ guidance?

Not really. It was better when the tyrant gave him no undue reminders of himself. Didn’t touch him, didn’t speak to him.

Whether Megatron thought that mercy or cruelty, Sideswipe wasn’t sure, but he’d take it.

Yet all too soon he made progress on fulfilling Megatron’s order. The panel slid back smoothly and without warning, revealing the recessed spike in its housing. He could only reach the tip like this, but even that was just… _Big._

He didn’t want to touch it, and paused, fighting himself. He wanted absolutely _nothing_ to do with that spike, but another part of him urged to just get it over with, reminded him that he didn’t really have any other _options._

And keeping Megatron waiting couldn’t be smart.

He proved correct in that assumption when the tyrant’s engine growled in clear warning, although he didn’t say anything. Sideswipe was pretty sure it was best he didn’t say anything, that if he found the need to _say_ something… Things might already be pretty bad for Sideswipe.

Take and obey the wordless cues to avoid the wrath of… Of Megatron.

How had it come to this? Where was his fight? His will and self-respect?

No. He wouldn’t be _this._ He wasn’t a meek follower of orders.

The warning blinked away on his HUD, counting down the hours and minutes to enforced stasis that he would have no way to deny if he didn’t get energon into his systems.

And _Megatron_ had that energon.

Despite that, Sideswipe pulled away, disgust too great to overcome and empowering his defiance. Megatron allowed him to move back enough that he was completely out of reach without even _trying_ to catch him. He merely cocked an optical ridge, and Sideswipe couldn’t tell if he was impressed by his continued resistance or completely disinterested in it.

He had to be so certain he would get his way eventually. He was probably used to it. “Oh?” was the one and only thing he said.

Sideswipe growled in response to it and tried to ignore the way his arms shook just so—the increasing effort it was to move them, or his legs for that matter. His strength was waning, he couldn’t ignore that fact.

But neither was he ready to just… Give Megatron what he wanted. _Again._ Always. He didn’t want to be that mech, a spiritless shell of what he was meant to be.

 _He_ wanted to be the master of his own life. The right to that didn’t belong to _anyone_ else. Least of all Megatron. 

But what Megatron did… He pulled a cube out, glowing bright pink, so packed with charge that Sideswipe nearly keeled over from how badly he _needed_ it.

And Megatron took a sip, all the while staring him in the optic. He hummed in pleasure too, just for the show of it.

Just to rub it in Sideswipe’s face.

He knew what he had to do to get that cube.

He wasn’t ready or willing to do it.

But his frame was rebelling against him, his HUD _targeting_ that glowing container of their species’ lifeblood. Notice after notice told him he needed to refuel, and see, there was fuel. _So close._

Yet so far.

What would happen if he didn’t fuel? He’d already– Hadn’t he already decided he didn’t want stasis?

But would it be preferable anyway?

Look what Megatron was making him do. Made him kneel and serve, obey and please. 

Just for the promise of fuel.

He couldn’t tear his optics away from the cube as Megatron took another sip he visibly _savored,_ and Sideswipe had already gotten a taste of what high quality fuel was on offer here. He knew it was tasty.

That only made his frame more eager for it, and him despair against it all the more. 

“Do you want it?” Megatron asked, casually, like he wasn’t dangling the carrot there, just out of Sideswipe’s reach.

It was a needless question. They both knew he wanted it. They both knew he needed it.

Sideswipe dropped his gaze, clenching his servos into fists like his tanks clenched from the yawning emptiness in them. 

For Sunstreaker. Wasn’t that why he was doing this? Wasn’t that the ultimate prize?

He loved his brother. Did he love him enough to forget all about his pride, push aside all of his dignity? Submit? Lose yet another battle?

But not the _war._ That wasn’t over, and it wouldn’t be over, and _that_ they would win. They’d have the last laugh when they escaped this place and left it all behind. 

He wanted his twin. He needed Sunstreaker.

It was as simple as that. A cube of fuel was just an additional bonus on the road to returning to his brother.

That road involved Megatron.

_For Sunstreaker._

He wasn’t sure if Megatron saw his internal conflict come to its conclusion or if it was just lucky timing, but the tyrant said, “Get back here,” just in that moment. 

But Sideswipe shook his helm, unable to will himself into motion. He didn’t want to get close to Megatron, didn’t want to feel the heat and strength of his frame.

He had to. If he wanted back to Sunstreaker, he had to. “Do you want it?” Megatron repeated his earlier question. Did he want the cube.

Did he want the relative freedom of leaving the dictator’s berthroom.

He did.

Sideswipe nodded mutely, unable to raise his helm and see what manner of expression Megatron was wearing right then. The tyrant’s field was unreadable, but Sideswipe doubted the same applied to his own. He was tired and not in the state of mind to control it. Most likely it reflected all of his emotions to excruciating detail and turned him into an open book he didn’t want to be in front of their torturer. 

If he wanted to have any hopes of regaining his strength, physical as well as mental, he needed _fuel._

“Then get back here.”

So simple. Go over there, do what he was told. Be rewarded for it.

He couldn’t hold back the sob that shook his frame, but here he was again, staring at two options that weren’t really options at all. Suffer or suffer.

Just pick the suffering that would get him back to Sunstreaker.

He tried to lean on that thought and gather strength from it like he would’ve gathered strength from Sunstreaker’s presence—except if Sunstreaker was here, would they fight harder? Would they refuse to give up, no matter what was thrown at them?

But Sunstreaker wasn’t here. 

Shaking from more than just physical weakness, Sideswipe forced himself to move, crawling back within reach, back between Megatron’s spread thighs.

The last place he wanted to be.

“Coax it out.”

He was crying and he couldn’t stop it, but this was what he had to do. Sideswipe lowered himself right back to where he had been, his vision blurry, but not blurry enough to spare him the sight of the tyrant’s completely proportional equipment.

What would he still be forced to do with it? This could only be the beginning.

Sideswipe closed his lips around the spike tip that was barely peeking out of its housing and swirled his glossa around it, probed at the slit at the very tip—did what he would’ve if he had done this voluntarily. Tried to _please,_ no matter how the tears streamed. 

No matter how every part of him begged for it to just _stop._

And it could only get worse from here. 

At least Megatron’s spike decided it wasn’t displeased with his administrations and began to pressurize and push out of its housing. Sideswipe drew back at the pace it rose, keeping just the tip in his mouth—trying to keep it bearable—and once enough of the massive spike was visible, he closed his servo around the length of it and began to work it with strokes that weren’t as firm as they might’ve been in better circumstances.

But he tried.

It wasn’t enough for Megatron, after a while. The spike wasn’t fully out yet when another order followed the one he had been working on. “Take it in your mouth.”

The tip was already, but they both knew what he meant.

Sideswipe stilled, his frame shaking from the thought of having to do _that_ again, his memory all too eager to remind him of what it felt like.

What it was like to force something far, far too big down his intake. The discomfort, the pain, the _I don’t want this._

_Please don’t make me do that again._

His pleas would fall on deaf audials, he was sure, but nevertheless Sideswipe pulled off the spike and shook his helm, over and over again. “Please, I- I don’t- I can’t- Don’t- _Please...”_

It wasn’t forcing him, it was _reminding_ him when Megatron caught one of his horns and gave it a warning squeeze.

What did he have to do to get fuel? To get out of here?

Tears were streaming from his optics nonstop and it felt like his spark was shrinking in his chassis, trampled and in pain.

“What do you say, Sideswipe?” Megatron asked again, but this time there was a hint of a _growl_ in his voice. He was testing his patience. Or maybe he wasn’t really and Megatron was just using a different method of overpowering his resistance.

Which was it?

Did he want to find out?

“I can’t…” he whispered, desperate, but he knew Megatron heard it anyway.

And he knew Megatron would get his way again. No matter what he said, no matter what he did. It was just a matter of time.

The grip on his horn tightened to the point of very real pain and Sideswipe caught his lower lip between his denta with a pained moan. “Get on with it.”

And it tightened with every second he spent fighting himself. It hurt. Pits but it _hurt._

What did he gain with his refusal, other than pain? Was there _anything?_

There wasn’t, was there?

The grip tightened, his horn buckled.

He relented. “Yes… My Lord.” The words were _acid_ on his glossa, and he feared how many more times he would be made to repeat that phrase.

But Megatron’s servo fell away. The pain ended. He wasn’t touched.

He was left to obey the orders under his own power again.

He could refuse again, but it wouldn’t do him any good. Megatron would win.

Megatron had won.

The spike hadn’t completed its climb out of its housing, and Sideswipe was well aware of the expectation that he would make it do so by throating it.

Take it in your mouth. Get on with it.

_Yes, my Lord._

He scrunched his optics shut but opened his mouth. The tip of the spike slid past his lips easily, but it only started to widen from there. What else could he do, though? He ignored the way his lips stretched taut as he pushed himself down on the length and felt it push further up in response to the warm wetness it was disappearing into. It flirted with his throat, he gagged.

And he cycled a deep, shuddering ventilation, tried to relax his throat to the best of his ability, and pushed further down. The massive girth pushed into his throat tubing, and the stretch… Was he ever going to get used to it? He didn’t _want_ to get used to it. The pain reminded him he was a willing participant in none of this. 

But it hurt so bad. 

“There you go,” Megatron murmured above him, and again his field pulsed with approval. Sideswipe didn’t want it. He didn’t want the praise for what he did _only_ because Megatron forced his hand. He didn’t want the gloating, the _‘look how I got my way’._

He didn’t want to please Megatron.

But here he was, doing just that. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

He hurt. Not just physically. His spark hurt. He didn’t want to hear things like that. Couldn’t there just be the physical force Megatron had used before? Pin him down and use him like he pleased without expecting anything from him in return?

Instead there was this. The suggestion that it would be so much easier if he just _didn’t fight it._ If he just gave in, did as he was told. It would be over faster. Maybe he’d suffer less, too.

But that thought, more than anything else, was _unbearable._ The physical things, those he might even be able to survive, but he didn’t, he just didn’t want Megatron playing these games with him. Messing with his head, turning things around. Using everything as ammunition against him. 

_Just leave me be!_

“Move.”

One simple word and yet it made his reality that much worse, but he wanted out of here. He wanted for this to _end_ eventually, and the only way to do that…

He would’ve whined if his vocalizer wasn’t so thoroughly crushed by the intrusion of Megatron’s spike into a space far too small for it, but despite the scraping and the aching that his oral lubricant just wasn’t enough to entirely overcome, he pulled back. Almost all the way, until only the tip of the spike remained in his oral cavity.

Then he pushed back down, all the way down, forcing the spike past the resistance of the back of his throat and _into_ it. All of it had pressurized and become visible by now, and that was the first of Megatron’s orders fulfilled. 

How many more would there be?

Every pull up was a fleeting relief filled with dread over what would follow, and every push down was straight up torture, but Sideswipe moved like he was told and bobbed his helm on the tyran’t spike. Up down, up down, like he’d willingly done to many a willingly picked partner in a place that felt so, so far away now.

Was so, so far away.

His face was so wet and still his tears kept running, and now that mess was joined by his oral lubricant, drooling past the stretch of his lips as he worked Megatron’s spike. He wasn’t sure for how long. Too long, but the attempt to just _endure_ negated any sense of time he would’ve otherwise had.

Eventually, though, Megatron spoke up again. “Stay down,” and although Sideswipe’s whole frame shuddered, on the next push down he sheathed the entirety of the tyrant’s spike into his throat and remained there. “Swallow.”

He could guess what was about to happen. His spark shrank some more, because this wouldn’t be the end of it. It was just another thing he didn’t want to happen, that would lead to more things he didn’t want to happen.

But he swallowed to the best of his ability, the calipers in his throat tightening rhythmically around the shaft, as minuscule as that movement was at the end of the day, with how far everything was already pushed. 

It was enough for Megatron, though. He didn’t land his servos on Sideswipe, didn’t _force_ him to stay down where he wanted him. He could’ve pulled back at any moment.

_Why didn’t he?_

Again he tried to swallow despite the pain of components angrily throwing warnings at him, and that was all it took for him to feel the first hot pulses of Megatron’s release somewhere deep down his intake as the tyrant stiffened. Charge crackled in the gaps of his armor, traveling to Sideswipe too, tingling on his plating.

And then it was over. It wasn’t a mighty big overload; the spurt of Megatron’s transfluid died off quickly.

_More for later._

Sideswipe tried to pull off once he was almost sure there was nothing more forthcoming, but again he was _tutted,_ a heavy servo landing on the back of his helm and firmly pressing him back down, forcing him to impale himself. “Did I give you permission?” Megatron asked.

The servo left.

He could’ve tried to pull off again. It was a test, had to be. How much more fight did he have in him? Would he try to disobey?

Why would he? What could he possibly gain by doing so? His goal—and he _had_ to keep it in mind—was to get out of here. Gain the permission to return to the harem wing. That was the current step necessary for the ultimate end of escaping this place. 

And if he wanted that… He just had to– He just had to swallow his pride and _obey._

So he stayed down, even with nothing more than a verbal command holding him there. Again he could feel Megatron’s approval, and hear his _chuckle_ too. 

The bastard was enjoying the control he had over him. Enjoying the sight of Sideswipe so vanquished.

But it wouldn’t _last._ He promised himself that much. This was only temporary, something he had to do in the moment. He’d get back into the fight yet.

Megatron hadn’t defeated him.

...No matter what it looked like in the present. No matter what it _felt_ like in the present.

Megatron only had him stay down long enough to make a _point._ Then one of his servos came down and tapped Sideswipe’s chin, and after a second’s hesitation Sideswipe experimentally tested if that was his cue to get off the spike. He pulled up, and this time Megatron didn’t stop him, but let him pull _all_ the way off, until not even the tip of the spike remained in his mouth.

Sideswipe sat back on his shins and wiped one shaking hand across his mouth. A mix of lubricant, tears, and transfluid had dirtied his lips, but there wasn’t much he could do about that.

He didn’t look up at Megatron, but he didn’t need to to know how the tyrant was feeling. _Pleased._ It was practically dripping from his field. 

Sideswipe just felt small.

“Are you hungry, Sideswipe?” came the question from earlier, and now Sideswipe glanced up only to be greeted with the sight of one deliciously glowing cube held deftly in Megatron’s claws.

He nodded, because he was, and servicing Megatron hadn’t helped matters any. Oh, he had some _transfluid_ in his tanks now, _thanks_ for that, but it wouldn’t replenish any of his energy. It was only something for his filters to get rid of.

But the cube Megatron was holding, that was the real deal. Had he _earned_ it?

Apparently he had, because Megatron handed it to him. Sideswipe accepted it carefully, murmuring a quiet, “Thanks,” before he could think better of it.

“What are you forgetting?” was the unexpected response from Megatron, and Sideswipe looked up in alarm before he’d even had a single sip of the fuel he needed so badly.

What was he forgetting? Maybe it was just the low charge making his processors function slower than usual, or maybe everything was just overwhelming him, but–

He still came to his realization faster than he would’ve liked. Sideswipe dropped his optics again, his grip on the cube tightening. “...My Lord.”

Was he supposed to tack that at the end of everything he said to Megatron? Probably almost so, at least.

But Megatron didn’t demand anything more of him right that second, and Sideswipe quickly raised the cube to his soiled lips and took a big gulp out of it. As he’d expected, the quality of the energon was outstanding and its energy concentration out of this world for being just midgrade.

He took his sweet time with it, enjoying it, but more than that, just trying to buy some time before whatever Megatron would ask of him next. Because there _would_ be more, he was damn sure of that. 

Surprisingly, Megatron didn’t rush him, but even then the cube didn’t last forever. Far too soon it was empty, and Sideswipe stared down at the bottom longingly before dispersing it.

And then… Then there was nothing between him and Megatron, and more importantly, nothing between him and Megatron’s erect spike.

He’d had energon, now. He wasn’t on the verge of stasis, even if he was long ways from being fully fueled no matter how high quality the single cube had been. The only thing left was getting to return to Sunstreaker.

Why did he feel like that would be significantly more difficult?

Megatron was staring down at him, _considering_ him, and Sideswipe resisted cringing away from the gaze that somehow managed to be fierce without even trying. All the images he’d seen of the tyrant before coming here, few as those had been, really had done the mech no justice. They hadn’t translated how _big_ he was, how effortlessly domineering and intense he was. 

It was hard to be in his presence and not feel fear.

Sideswipe definitely felt fear. Quite a few bucketloads of it, actually.

“Lean back. Finger your valve,” Megatron instructed him next, and Sideswipe’s optics widened a little bit. Was the fragger seriously wanting him to put on a show for him? Pleasure _himself?_

He didn’t want to feel pleasure in this situation! He didn’t want to–

But how else would he get back to Sunstreaker?

Sideswipe knew his face and the grimace that grew on it spoke volumes of how he was feeling, but Megatron didn’t react to it, and _definitely_ didn’t rescind his order. “Will you let me go if… If I do it?” Sideswipe asked quietly, hoping despite himself that this would all be over soon. And maybe he meant some of the things Megatron might ask of him after… After he’d finger fucked himself, too.

Would he get to go if he did all that?

Megatron’s answer wasn’t very comforting. “You’ll just have to try and see, won’t you?”

Uncertainty. His future was so uncertain. On one hand he doubted that Megatron would never let him go back to the harem wing if Sideswipe… _Behaved_ himself and didn’t do something that would’ve definitely earned a swift execution.

But on the other hand, what did he know? Megatron’s cruelty was unlikely to know any bounds.

What else could he do but _try,_ though? On the off chance it would mean he’d get to leave at some point…

Try, and hope for the best.

For Sunstreaker. For their reunion, and for their chance to escape.

This would all be just a terrible nightmare at some point, a thing of the past.

He just had to survive until then.

So Sideswipe cycled another steadying ventilation that did little to steady him and leaned back, planting his aft on the berth and spreading his legs—providing Megatron with a clear, uninterrupted view of his interface array, covered for now as it was.

His spark _screamed_ no and the disgust he felt with the situation, with _himself,_ was nearly too great to contain. Here he was, putting himself up on display without anyone even making him do it—giving their rapist just what he wanted without any resistance.

What was he? A common whore?

He kind of was after their _introduction_ to Kaon, wasn’t he? At least he’d gotten called that plenty...

It was a fight and a half to order his valve cover out of the way, revealing the black mesh underneath. It was even more of a fight to force one of his servos down and touch himself.

It felt a lot like he was raping _himself,_ now, with how little he wanted to do this. He didn’t want anything to do with his damn valve. It would be better if the whole thing was just removed, if it brought him this amount of misery—no matter the good times he’d also had with it.

But what he did instead was one of the last things he wanted. Mindful of his claws, he dipped one digit into the opening that really just… Wasn’t as tight anymore as it _had_ been.

He didn’t want to come to realizations like that, fucking… Acknowledge all of the physical signs of what they were being put through. How their frames were being reshaped to fit the mold of this place.

He closed his optics again, fresh tears riding down the tracks their brethren had already left behind, as if that could protect him from all of this in any shape or form. 

Evidently he hesitated a little too long with his thoughts. “Pleasure yourself, Sideswipe. I want your valve wet.”

Sideswipe keened, because now it wasn’t even just about fingering himself, it was about genuinely making himself feel _good—_ and there was the suggestion of what would happen after, too.

Megatron wanted his valve wet, most likely for the express purpose of shoving it full of his spike.

_What other options did he have but obey?_

Why was he doing any of this? Why was he putting himself through this when he could just refuse, too?

Because he wanted to get back to Sunstreaker. He didn’t want to spend a single orn more locked up in here.

They weren’t any real decisions.

He knew how to make himself feel good. He’d done it often enough, either just by himself, or to prepare himself for a partner—like he was preparing himself now.

_No, no, don’t think that or you’ll never manage it._

Just one digit first, dipping in to brush against the sensors lining the inside of his valve, then pulling out, pushing back in, lighting them up. He focused _hard_ on that just that feeling to get even the beginnings of lubrication take place, then added a second finger.

Before it would’ve been enough to cause a stretch.

Not anymore, though.

He emptied his mind of that and just added a third digit, and that was enough for his first calipers to begin to loosen up for the intrusion, adding to the… Pleasant sensations. It did feel good, if he really focused on it and gave no thoughts to where he was or why he was doing this.

But the reality was very hard to ignore all the same, especially when he could hear an excited rev of Megatron’s engine. His optics snapped open despite himself and he looked up to see the tyrant stroking his spike, watching the show hungrily. 

And he looked down at his own frame, the way his digits were pumping in and out of his valve. Making him feel good.

Degrading himself in front of Megatron, on Megatron’s orders. 

But there was lubricant, and his array was heating up. His digits, when they retreated, shone from the wetness covering them, and the push back in went smoothly enough.

That wasn’t enough for Megatron. “Overload yourself,” he said, and Sideswipe glanced up again, plea in his optics.

But Megatron merely met his gaze evenly, and Sideswipe knew there were no requests he could make and no begging effective enough for Megatron to take pity on him.

Pleasure himself to the point of overload. In front of an audience he didn’t exactly want.

Primus.

He had to.

Because he’d been told so.

Because he wouldn’t get out of here otherwise.

...The faster he did it, the sooner it would be over.

Sideswipe shut his optics tight and focused even harder on just _himself,_ and past memories. Pleasant memories. Good memories. Happy memories.

But it was so hard when Megatron’s engine kicked into a low purr of appreciation as Sideswipe’s digits began to stroke in and out faster as he chased after enough charge to reach an overload. He couldn’t fully shut out that background sound, and it made his climb to the peak slower than he would’ve liked it to be.

Just get it _over with._

Frustrated, Sideswipe fell back all the way and planted his pedes on the berth to better push onto his own digits. Megatron’s engine revved again, but Sideswipe ignored it to the best of his ability and let his hips rock on his digits, to just… He was getting there.

He was so close.

He just needed to get those last few inches. 

With a growl of his engine Sideswipe shoved his digits _up_ and his hips _down,_ ignoring the little sting of his still unexpectedly sharp claws grazing the inside of his valve. He just needed to– Oh, fuckit, he just wanted it _done,_ but that thought wasn’t exactly prime stuff to build on his arousal.

So he tried to think of past interfaces instead, the really good ones that stuck with you. Forget Megatron, forget this place, think of the _past_ he promised himself he would return to sooner rather than later.

That worked. His hips danced on his digits before his back arched and stiffened from the rather pathetic overload his frame was able to reach.

But it was an overload all the same, and it did make his valve a little more wet.

And Sideswipe felt dirtier than he ever had before. Even the aftermath of their gangrape hadn’t been this bad. At least then he hadn’t participated in anything under his own power, just had his frame used over and over again by others.

Now he was turning himself against his own body and mind, just because one sick mech told him to.

His frame slumped and Sideswipe fetched his digits from his valve as quickly as he could. Was that enough?

Maybe it was, because Megatron didn’t instantly tell him to do more to himself. “Come here,” he said instead. Sideswipe opened his optics and glanced down his frame to see Megatron staring down at him with clear _lust_ in his optics.

It was just going to continue, in one form or other. Sideswipe had to spend a good moment gathering enough willpower to push himself up and close the distance between him and Megatron again. He’d expected the tyrant would just grab him once he came to reach—he sure looked aroused enough to be after fast relief—but… He didn’t.

Not this time either.

Instead he expected _Sideswipe_ to do the work. “Sit on me,” he practically purred, but kept his servos to himself. Sideswipe wished he didn’t. If he just… Made it _feel_ like he wasn’t doing this willingly. _Forced_ him. That he could take.

He wasn’t so sure he could take being expected to do everything himself, without a heavy servo holding him down or digging into him, hurting him to earn his cooperation.

What did Megatron do to have his cooperation now? Next to nothing. Sideswipe just _gave_ it. Like he just… Like he didn’t _hate_ all of this. Like he wanted it.

Like the other mates that lined up with one order from the tyrant.

Megatron had somehow managed to turn the tables, and Sideswipe wasn’t sure how to return them to their original positions anymore. He wanted to be the victim, he wanted it to be clear as _day_ that he wasn’t willingly subjecting himself to _any_ of this. 

“Fragging _make me,”_ he hissed at Megatron, his lips pulling back to bare his denta at the tyrant. Provoke him, aggravate him, _something_ to earn the reaction he wanted, the force, the brutality he’d displayed before. 

Put this whole thing back on tracks he could withstand.

Megatron didn’t rise to the challenge, at least not in the way Sideswipe had hoped he would. “And here I thought you might want to return to your brother.” Megatron hit the nail on the head so easily, brushing his thumb over the tip of his spike. Sitting there, composed and arrogant, and Sideswipe was trying to fight this being of absolute control and entitlement.

Did he really hope to win?

His fist moved before he’d even thought of the reaction, but Megatron intercepted it with his palm long before it could make contact with the plating it wouldn’t have so much as _dented,_ anyway.

It was fucking laughable how uneven their footing was. Megatron was the leader of an entire city-state, and by all appearances a formidable foe in all ways, physical as well as mental. Powerful in frame, mind, and will, and perfectly aware of it.

And Sideswipe was nothing but a lowly guttermech, smart enough to survive, but not so smart he would’ve escaped his lot in life.

“Was I wrong?” Megatron asked, still the picture of poise, completely unaffected by Sideswipe’s attempt at violence.

He wasn’t wrong. He _knew_ he wasn’t wrong.

He was just playing games.

Sideswipe shook his helm anyway, tugging weakly on the fist Megatron had caught in the hold of his own servo, and didn’t seem too willing to give back to him.

Well, not before he suddenly _was,_ and Sideswipe nearly fell back when Megatron released his hold without a warning.

“Then you know what to do.”

Tears, again, just when the previous ones had had the time to dry. He was nothing but a cornered animal facing off against someone superior to him in all thinkable ways. Fighting didn’t work. Fleeing wasn’t an option. What could he do, play dead?

_Give up._

Just… Just for the time being. Just until he could get out of here. He could fight again in the future.

But giving Megatron that satisfaction, even temporarily, didn’t sit well with him at all.

What else could he do, though?

A sob escaped him, then another, and they shook his frame, but he got onto his knees, then moved to straddle Megatron’s hips. The tyrant touched him now, big servos taking a hold of his frame, but only to steady him as he positioned his wet valve atop the waiting spike.

Wet like Megatron wanted it.

It didn’t matter how hard he cried, and he was crying hard. He’d still be made to do this.

So Sideswipe lowered himself onto the spike, biting his lip when the tip found the entrance to his valve, moaning when it pushed past its resistance and entered his valve proper, and crying out when he sank lower and the true size of Megatron’s equipment made itself known again.

Too big. Just too big. It didn’t matter that his valve was reasonably lubricated, and it didn’t matter he’d gotten hammered by that same spike several times already. There was nothing to change the fact their specs were just _incompatible,_ and each caliper that was forced out of alignment by the steady intrusion of Megatron’s spike protested the whole damn thing vehemently.

 _He could end this._ All he needed to do was raise himself and move away. He didn’t think Megatron would chase after him after how hands off he’d been this whole time.

He could fucking _end_ this. It was in his hands.

Yet he chose this, as if he wanted it. But he _didn’t._ He didn’t want it.

He just wanted the… The _reward_ for it. Do something incredibly unpleasant now, things that killed him up inside, just for the promise that he would eventually get back to Sunstreaker and have a chance to pick up the pieces.

Megatron couldn’t separate them for forever. He’d given no indication he wanted to do that.

So he just needed to endure this. _Do_ this. 

No matter how Megatron’s field swelled with pleasure and approval and some more pleasure to top it all off. Well. At least he could say his valve was satisfying yet another individual.

Not much of a victory, here.

He sank down until he was _sitting_ on the tyrant’s lap and on the whole of his spike that pressed against his innards now. He could feel the stretch and the horrid fullness that would turn into equally horrid emptiness once this was over and his valve was left gaping in the aftermath. He wanted none of it, but what else could he do?

What else could he do except _ride_ the mech that was forcing him into all of this? He had to remember that, that it was… He wasn’t consenting. He hadn’t given his consent any step of the way.

...Or had he? Pits, what was he doing right now? Wasn’t this _consent?_ No one was forcing him.

No one was directly forcing him, but this was still coercion. Consent under duress was just _rape._

But it still _felt_ different, no matter how he _knew_ that to be the truth. It was easier to categorize it when he was ravaged despite his refusal.

Harder to come to terms with doing all the work himself, when he could just…

He could just _not,_ and likely no one would force him. 

Except Megatron would find a way to get what he wanted. He would force him, even if he didn’t do it with his _frame._

Pits, he was so _confused._

“Well?” Megatron snapped him out of his madly running thoughts and Sideswipe glanced up to see the tyrant raising his optical ridges at him. His servos, massive, massive servos were still on his frame, keeping him upright.

And Sideswipe’s servos were resting against the grey chassis for balance.

He drew those back at once, but that only made him rely more on Megatron’s grip on his waist and side.

_No winning._

“Ride me.”

_Get it over with._

He didn’t want to. Primus, but _he didn’t want to._ His throat seized, his spark constricted, and he despaired, and _he didn’t want to,_ but what could he do?

_What could he do?_

For Sunstreaker. All he needed to do was survive. Endure. He shouldn’t think too hard about what he was doing. Just… Do what he needed to, to get back to the harem wing. Nothing more, nothing less.

He could do this. 

Sideswipe placed his servos on Megatron’s shoulders hesitantly, but the devil of his personal hell didn’t react to the gesture negatively. Emboldened, he used that as a support to draw himself up, biting his lip to the point of denting it at the feel of the damned spike dragging across each and every one of his sensors. At least there was lubricant. _Some_ lubricant. Enough that he could likely escape an undue amount of tears to the mesh.

But there was little to help his poor calipers. Gratefully they returned back within their intended schematics as the spike slid out his valve and cleared them, but then he dropped himself back down, and the warnings started to flood his HUD all over again. Pain bloomed, too.

It wasn’t as bad as it had been the first time, though. How long ago was that even by this point? Some orns.

It felt like an eternity.

So was he getting used to this? Physically, he thought that the answer was yes. He didn’t want to, but his frame was adjusting regardless of what he wanted it to do.

Mentally and emotionally… 

_No, don’t think about it. Just don’t._

Another rise up, another drop down. He’d ridden quite a few spikes in his life, but never one this big. He struggled to find his pace, struggled to ignore how far past its limits his frame was being pushed every time he took Megatron’s girth, but Megatron, the fucking _bastard_ gave him all the time and patience in the goddamn world. His servos remained there, but their touch was light and only there to keep him from tipping too far in any direction when his balance threatened to fail him.

He wasn’t taking control of the pace, but he was in control all the same.

It was fucking humiliating, _riding_ his rapist while Megatron just watched with that lustful look in his optic and his field radiating his pleasure over the situation—physical pleasure, as well as his approval over Sideswipe’s performance, no matter how lacking it was.

His approval over his _obedience._

Sideswipe was fuming and Sideswipe was hurting, but he kept repeating the same motion. Up, then down, then up again—and tried to deny his frame the pleasure that began to slowly creep in despite the ache of his calipers. His sensors just couldn’t ignore the scrape against them, specifically designed to find that very motion pleasurable.

It was a losing battle, just like everything here was. Before long he was biting back his own moans, his frame growing hotter and his spark heavier.

And the humiliation multiplied.

Megatron squeezed his aft and _pits,_ maybe it was just an accident because there was no way he could’ve known about it, but Sideswipe keeled forward from it as _arousal_ shot through his lines. His helm was resting against the tyrant’s chest and he tried to take a moment to make sense of it all—the simple pleasure radiating from his aching valve, and the sudden spike in sensation that came from his aft getting attention.

And Megatron noticed.

“Oh, you like that, don’t you?” he chuckled with a rev of his engine that had Sideswipe gritting his denta, and then he squeezed _again_ and a moan slipped past Sideswipe’s lips before he could stop it. He was going to fucking… He was going to overload at this rate.

He was going to overload from practically raping himself. 

“Keep going,” Megatron instructed after a moment’s pause, _patting_ his aft this time, and even that was just stimulation and pleasure he didn’t need. But, shaking, Sideswipe nevertheless returned to his task, because the sooner he got Megatron to overload, the sooner this would be over.

He hoped.

Megatron’s engine rumbled in satisfaction that was as palpable in his field as it was audible, and Sideswipe could feel the charge in his frame building under his servos.

He rode harder, just to bring that end closer. The inadvertent side-effect was that pleasure also mounted in his _own_ frame, and it became harder and harder to ignore—harder and harder to keep at bay. 

Primus, he didn’t want to overload on Megatron’s spike, but when Megatron squeezed his aft one more time, he got no choice on the matter. With a surprised cry charge _snapped_ in his frame, stiffening him from helm to pede. His valve clenched around the tyrant’s spike, calipers spasming–

And Megatron came too, growling his release as hot splashes of transfluid were deposited deep in his valve.

He felt disgusting. More unwanted transfluid tainted the inside of his frame, now, but more than that, he had fucking _overloaded_ from this. From Megatron’s spike, from his touch. Megatron hadn’t even explicitly set out to accomplish that, had he?

It was all on Sideswipe.

Panting, he slumped against the larger frame as the both of them climbed down from their highs, Megatron’s spike seated firmly in his frame, their crotches pressing together.

And he started to cry, again. His spark was so full of negative emotion he couldn’t even contain it all, and tears stained his cheeks even further than they already had.

He didn’t even dare remove himself from Megatron’s spike in fear that he’d just get pushed back down because he hadn’t been given _permission._ When would he be given that permission? He didn’t want it in his valve! Not for a second longer than was absolutely necessary.

Except none of this necessary. None of this was anything more than sick games of an amoral monarch.

This didn’t need to happen.

It had anyway.

“That was quite pleasant, wasn’t it?” Megatron commented after a moment, and patted his aft again. Sideswipe jolted, but began to raise himself off the tyrant’s spike—that was probably his cue to do so, anyway.

He seemed to be right when Megatron made no move to stop him.

At least, he didn’t before Sideswipe had completely removed himself and tried to scoot out of reach. At that Megatron caught him by an arm and halted his retreat.

Sideswipe’s spark pulsed hard, his fuel pump hammering from the anxious question of _what now?_ Hadn’t all of this been enough already?

“You will recharge with me tonight,” Megatron said as a way of an announcement and an explanation.

“What?!” Sideswipe squeaked, tugging against the hold on his arm, but of course it was to no avail.

Was this really happening?

“You heard me,” was all Megatron deigned to acknowledge his disbelief with before forcibly pulling him back to himself. He brought two cloths from his subspace—and Sideswipe wished he still had access to his own—handing one to Sideswipe. “Clean yourself up.”

Sideswipe stayed frozen for a few precious seconds, but when Megatron’s optical ridges rose expectantly, he shook himself off and reluctantly took the cloth. Megatron cleaned his spike and crotch, and Sideswipe wiped off his face and pelvic plating, brushing the cloth over his valve too, before he closed the cover to… To keep the whole damn mess from leaking out.

He was so filthy.

Megatron took both of the cloths and placed them back in his subspace afterwards, and then he reclined on his berth, pulling Sideswipe down with him. And _now_ he was using force, Sideswipe’s silent resistance doing him no good in the face of the tyrant’s raw strength. He was brought down and trapped under one of Megatron’s arms, its hold around him tight enough to kill any thoughts of escaping.

Maybe once Megatron was in recharge…

Sideswipe for sure wasn’t going to get any damn recharge. Not when the warmth of the larger frame pressed against him on one side, and the sounds of a frame so different from Sunstreaker’s filled the quiet after Megatron had given the lights a remote command to dim. How was he supposed to relax next to their Primus damned rapist?

He didn’t. He couldn’t. He didn’t even try to, in all honesty, just laid there stiff as a board as the sounds of Megatron’s frame changed to the by now _familiar_ rhythm of recharge.

Sideswipe just hadn’t gotten this up close and personal with it before. 

It was a long, long night, but if he’d thought morning would come as a relief, he was _sorely_ mistaken. Sure, Megatron woke up and released his hold of him, but it was only to mandate a morning fuck right after.

He pleaded, asked to just be _let go,_ wasn’t this _enough,_ but it didn’t matter. Megatron didn’t _physically_ force him this time either, but if Sideswipe had hoped the tyrant would have a too tight schedule to deal with all of his attempts to weasel out of it… He was wrong.

He was wrong, and that morning saw him back between Megatron’s thighs despite his best efforts, kneeling, a spike lodged in his throat. The fact still remained that he wanted to leave this place eventually. The berthroom first, the palace and the city next.

And Megatron held the keys to that. Megatron didn’t hesitate to remind him of that fact, and there wasn’t anything Sideswipe could counter it with.

Obey.

That was all he could do to get to the end he wanted to reach.

If he’d thought he’d at least have the day to himself and his boredom… He was wrong about that too. Megatron might’ve left him alone while he had still resisted, but now he returned in the middle of the day, and they played their game all over again. He rode Megatron’s spike this time too, and then Megatron simply _left_ again, leaving him crying on his berth.

But at least he was provided with a clean cloth to wipe himself off with.

And that wasn’t even _it,_ because Megatron saw fit to visit him a _second_ time that day, as unexpected and unannounced as the first time. It was his throat he wanted this time, and it was his throat Sideswipe gave him after offering desperate defiance that just wasn’t _enough._

It was never enough.

* * *

The evening didn’t see him back at the harem wing either, but balanced atop the despot’s spike all over again. He tried to hold onto his hope and anticipation of returning to _Sunstreaker,_ but they were wounded things and bleeding out faster and faster after every time Megatron forced-but-didn’t- _force_ him into interfacing with him. The tyrant’s engine was rumbling as Sideswipe sank down onto his spike with nothing _making_ him do it.

Just the commands of his own goddamn processors, sent to his frame out of his own free will.

He didn’t even have tears anymore. His spark was laying still, hurting so much he thought he might die, but he couldn’t find the will to cry as he made himself bounce on Megatron’s spike—a task his frame already had a much better idea of how to do, despite the girth he was forcing into it. And even that didn’t feel as bad anymore. His calipers were growing numb from the abuse. _Getting used to it,_ adjusting to their new standards. When he dismissed the warnings on his HUD, no new ones popped up. 

It was pleasure for him too, as much as he didn’t want it. He couldn’t deny his frame, though, especially not when Megatron exploited the one thing he had already discovered and fondled his aft.

Why did it feel so good? He didn’t want it to feel so good, but combined with the _enjoyable_ assault on his valve sensors, it sent him into a fritzing overload no matter how hard he tried to hold back—and holding back only made it that much stronger when he finally met his limit and lost control over his frame. It pulled Megatron over the edge too. More transfluid shot into his valve.

He felt that much more disgusting.

* * *

Again Megatron made him recharge next to him, and again he woke up in the morning only to demand things of Sideswipe. How much did he need to _give_ in exchange for his freedom, for his right to return to Sunstreaker? 

He didn’t know.

“Help me wash.”

_“What?”_

“Don’t tell me you don’t know how. You have a _twin.”_

Megatron’s washracks were nearly as big as the harem wing’s, despite the fact these belonged to one mech only. There was an oil bath here too, big one, several showerheads, and everything else a mech needed to keep themselves clean and posh.

True to his word, Megatron made him scrub his frame, front and back while the tyrant just stood there and watched him. He didn’t crouch for Sideswipe to reach all of him either, oh no. Instead he got to use a stool that he moved around the larger mech’s frame while Megatron did absolutely nothing except instruct him on how to do something _right_ every now and then.

And of course that wasn’t _enough._ “Back against the wall,” Megatron said once Sideswipe thought they were already done, because the tyrant was clean and shining from helm to pede. Distrustfully and fearing he knew where this was going, Sideswipe stepped back until his back met the tiled wall next to the shower. His spark came alive enough to flutter nervously… And to die back into dormancy when Megatron caught him by the waist and lifted him up. A click and his spike pressurized between his legs. Sideswipe didn’t need to look to know that, but he did anyway. “Open.”

He shook his helm, just once. Was nothing enough? How much longer was this going to last? When would Megatron be _satisfied?_

_“Open.”_

For Sunstreaker.

His valve cover slid back, and no sooner than that he was already pierced by one of the biggest spikes he’d ever laid eyes on. 

Yet his valve barely registered anything other than _pleasure._

* * *

Megatron left him alone in his berthroom for that day too only to come in three times throughout it to order him to pleasure him. He was forced to recharge next to him that night.

It repeated the next day. And the next night.

And the day after that, too. As well as the night.

He couldn’t tell sky from ground anymore. Recharging when Megatron did was out of the question, but his days were too unpredictable for him to relax then either, knowing Megatron could return without a warning at any moment. He was given fuel, at least. His batteries were running low on charge, but he could compensate with energon for now. Defragging was unachievable, but… If he ever got out of here, maybe he could do it then. His processors were probably going to be a mess whether or not he did it, anyway.

He was sitting on the edge of Megatron’s berth when the tyrant returned that evening. Sideswipe barely scrounged up the willpower to glance up when the berthroom door opened to admit him. Megatron had two cubes of energon with him that he placed on his desk before stepping over to Sideswipe, gesturing at him with one servo. “Lay on your back.”

He did so and Megatron spread his thighs before stepping between them. His spike came out. His thumbs brushed along the edges of Sideswipe’s valve cover.

Sideswipe transformed it out of the way. Megatron’s thumbs slipped inside and spread the valve lips wide, but it was _nothing_ compared to what his spike was, and he’d gotten so much of that recently that his valve didn’t even have the time to return to more reasonable sizes anymore.

It didn’t even sting. 

Megatron replaced his digits with his spike soon and rocked in and out of his frame at a leisurely pace. Sideswipe stared at the ceiling and tried to ignore the charge that threatened to build in his frame—that _did_ build in his frame whether he liked it or not.

And he didn’t like it. He didn’t want it, not now, not ever.

But Megatron didn’t ask or request, just ordered and demanded, and Sideswipe couldn’t fully control the reactions a frame was designed and wired to have.

Resistance was futile.

_For now._

He just needed to get out of here, out of Megatron’s berthroom, back to… Back to Sunstreaker.

He did all of this for Sunstreaker. No one else.

And he held tight to that thought as Megatron drove his frame into yet another unwanted overload, as Megatron himself overloaded and let his spill splatter against Sideswipe’s abdominal armor before making him turn around and ordering his mouth onto his spike. Sideswipe bobbed his helm along it, forcing it down his throat when he was told to, and ignored the thick valve lubricant it was already coated with—ignored the taste.

After Megatron had landed his second overload on his face, he stepped away to fetch both of the cubes. Sideswipe took the one handed to him even as he tried to wipe some of Megatron’s come from his face, succeeding mostly in just spreading it around. He sipped from his cube in silence, and Megatron said nothing either, just… Stared at him.

Judging him, almost.

“Come help me wash,” he said after they had both finished and dispersed their cubes.

“Yes, my Lord,” Sideswipe murmured, hopping off the high berth and following the tyrant into his washracks. 

There he helped him clean, and although no one was washing Sideswipe, enough of the solvent fell on him to wash him on the side too, at least mostly. Megatron made him stand against the wall and service his spike with his mouth again, afterwards, and this time his transfluid fell down Sideswipe’s intake instead of dirtying his face again. He was given the permission to quickly rinse his face, too, and Sideswipe eagerly took the chance.

He expected they would return to Megatron’s berthroom for another tense night spent under the dictator’s heavy arm, but instead Megatron halted once they’d exited the washracks… And said something Sideswipe had almost started to believe he’d never hear. “You’re dismissed. Return to the harem wing.”

Sideswipe stood in silent disbelief, but Megatron seemed to mean what he said and completely ignored him in favor of returning to his primary lounge.

Leaving Sideswipe alone in the gloomy hallway.

He didn’t feel as… Victorious, as he’d expected he would.

He’d survived. He could leave. He could go back to Sunstreaker.

But he was just… Tired. He wanted back to Sunstreaker though, so badly. He knew he did. He wanted to feel his brother’s arms around him, wanted to hug him in return, wanted to–

He just wanted Sunstreaker.

That was all he’d ever wanted.

On pedes that felt a little too unsteady, walking across a floor that felt a little too unreal, Sideswipe turned and headed the opposite direction from where Megatron had gone, towards the main doors of the wing. He hadn’t even been to them in… Oh Primus, how many orns had it been by now? He had no idea.

They wouldn’t have opened for him back then anyway, but they did now.

Skywarp was waiting on the other and smiled and waved in greeting. Sideswipe didn’t smile or wave back, and the expression dropped from the Seeker’s face. “So… How are you feeling?” he asked as he set his pace to stay by Sideswipe’s unenergetic gait, a gesture the red twin vaguely appreciated.

“I’m fine,” he said, too quickly, without inflection, without even thinking about the answer. Just lying, straight up.

He wasn’t even sure what the truth really was.

“Oh. Okay,” was all Skywarp said to that. He didn’t press the matter, like he hadn’t pressed the same matter any time before.

They walked in silence until they came to the doors to the harem wing the ever stoic guards stood watch over, but the Seeker spoke up again a moment before the doors opened. “Well, if you need anything, just say.”

The offer sounded so… Genuine. Sideswipe didn’t have the state of mind to think too deeply into it, but he nodded his thanks.

And then the doors opened and they stepped through, and no sooner had that happened Sunstreaker was already _there,_ catching him into an embrace more desperate than anything they had ever shared before.

Sideswipe blinked over his brother’s shoulder before the reality of his other spark-half’s steady spin and pulse against his chassis registered, before the familiar sounds of Sunstreaker’s frame registered—before just his smell registered.

Everything Sunstreaker.

He’d… He’d waited so long just for this.

Sideswipe pressed his face against his twin’s neck, soaked in all that made his brother—wrapped his arms around him and held on for dear life.

Finally here. _“I missed you.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coercion  
> More coercion  
> Even more coercion  
> So much dubcon  
> It's not consent, it's just rape  
> Hell of a lot of self-doubt  
> Deepthroating and traditional valve fucking, nothing extreme or fancy


	8. And When You Reach Out for the Stars...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings for this chapter aside from angst and some violence.
> 
> Next chapter might unfortunately take a while because school starts back up on Monday. Fall break well spent as far as updating this goes, though!

So _fucking_ helpless. That was him when Starscream, the bastard, wrapped his arms around him and shackled him against the larger mech’s chassis. The guards continued to Sideswipe, blocking off his brother’s single escape route.

Ready to catch him. “Sideswipe! No! Let the slag go of me you fragging _pigeon– Sideswipe!”_

There was nothing Sideswipe could do when he was caught. The guards were bigger and stronger than the twins, and likely used to _wrangling uncooperative mecha_ into their ill fates.

They couldn’t be the only ones who fought this—who had fought this. 

And fight Sunstreaker did, but Starscream was relentless. His arms wouldn’t budge from around him no matter how he twisted or pulled. All he attained were claw marks on his armor from the way the Seeker’s claws dug into him to trap him in place.

Starscream’s efforts worked to finish the cascade of events, and Sunstreaker could do nothing but stand by and watch, struggle and cuss for naught. The guards dragged an equally struggling Sideswipe through the doors, which closed again on their heels.

As soon as they did, Starscream released him. Sunstreaker stumbled from his sudden freedom– Found his balance and _dashed_ to the doors–

But of course they wouldn’t open for him.

He banged on them anyway, screaming in _frustration…_

In knowing there was nothing he could do to help his twin.

Knowing he’d already failed in protecting him.

Neither of them needed any protecting often. They knew how to handle themselves, had gained all the street smarts necessary to live and survive the dangerous life of being one of the _forgotten._ Their life, short as it had been so far, had taught them much when it came to helping themselves. They had each other when things went to pits, but they were rarely fully reliant on their other frame.

Throw all of that in the trash now. None of their experience did slag for them in this hellhole where they were thrown down and ground into the _dirt_ by mecha that utterly dominated them. They could fight as much as they liked, it didn’t help them any. It didn’t matter if they stood together, because even that wasn’t enough against these mecha—against Megatron.

And now they weren’t given even that much. They had been used to coerce their twin into cooperation, sure, but what did that matter? Even if they’d resisted that, it would have all happened anyway to one of them, just maybe a different one.

But at least when they were together, they were _together._

That was torn from them, along with everything else they’d already lost. What would Megatron do to Sideswipe without Sunstreaker there? How would he force Sideswipe into doing what he wanted without Sunstreaker there to be used as a tool of extortion?

How much would Sideswipe need to go through? How much would he need to _suffer?_

And there was nothing Sunstreaker had been able to do about it—nothing he could do about it.

His ventilations came in fast bursts and he leaned against the tightly shut doors, staring at his pedes. He’d thought everything so far had been bad, and… It wasn’t like him and Sideswipe were incapable or unused to spending some amount of time apart. They’d worked in different parts of Iacon, for Primus’ sake, and only seen each other in the evenings. Only spent their nights together.

But that was different. That was them going their separate ways out of their own _free will,_ and knowing they’d reunite at the end of the day. It was no cause for concern.

Now they were torn apart when they most needed each other and when being apart was the last thing they wanted. They could get through this together. 

How were they supposed to do that alone?

They’d find out. Sunstreaker’s servos balled into fists, his sharpened claws digging into his palms. Resolve. They _would_ survive this alone too, because survival meant the chance to get out of here.

...He just hoped Sideswipe would come to the same conclusion—that he’d find a way to withstand whatever Megatron threw at him. 

Oh, Sideswipe. Things just kept getting worse and worse.

Sunstreaker wasn’t sure how long exactly he spent there, against the doors that wouldn’t budge for him, but it was long enough for them to _budge._ He couldn’t believe it at first, but that disbelief only lasted for the split of a second before foolish _hope_ took over. Open doors meant a way out—a way to Sideswipe, now.

_No it didn’t, there would only be more locked doors in the way._

He’d try anyway.

And he did, but what had the doors opened for? To admit the two guards that had dragged Sideswipe away. Of course, they would need to return to their _posts_ on the threshold of the harem wing.

It did not work in his favor. He couldn’t even say whether or not they’d expected to see him just on the other side of the doors, because they remained as stone faced and still fielded as ever.

He tried to dodge past them, but at once there were four guards in attention to stop any attempt at slipping by—the two that were returning, and the other two already standing in their assigned places in the hall outside of the harem wing. Eight arms were ready to stop him, two landed on him, caught him, and shoved him back into the dim hallway.

The guards stepped in, the doors closed behind them, and he was still here.

Still in this goddamned wing when his brother was elsewhere, at the mercy of Cybertron’s one true tyrant—not _here,_ not with Sunstreaker, where he could… He couldn’t keep him safe, not in this particular nightmare, but if they’d just been _together…_

Primus.

 _“You fragging slagpiles,”_ Sunstreaker snarled, stepping up to one of the guards that didn’t even acknowledge him. 

Didn’t so much as _look_ at him. 

What was he in their optics? Just a nuisance? A captive to keep in its cell? Just another of their master’s _toys,_ his worth tied to Megatron’s opinion of him?

They _would_ look at him. Sunstreaker drew his fist back only to send it flying for the guard’s face, but like the trained security personnel they were, they merely brought an arm up to block his strike. No expression, not a flinch.

No nothing but one economical motion to keep themselves from the limited harm he could’ve inflicted on them.

With a furious growl Sunstreaker repeated the motion with his other arm, but the result was the same and then some. In a shift motion he had no time to see coming, the guard had caught him by the wrist and spun him around, bending his arm behind his back. Enough to hurt and function as a warning, but just shy of damaging him.

To the pits with that! _“Let go of me,”_ he hissed, kicking back at the guard even as he strained against the hold on his arm, but all any of it earned him was ache and warning alerts about strained components. The guard wouldn’t budge, keeping their hold of him and ignoring the hits he did manage to land like they’d done this who knew how many times before.

And Sunstreaker wanted to believe they had, wanted to believe that there had been other mechs before them that had _fought_ all of this and hadn’t just laid there and _taken_ it. They couldn’t be the only ones that had raged against the situation they’d been thrust into. Really, even Megatron himself was proof that that was the case. Wasn’t he all too skilled in forcing cooperation, as if he’d done it _hundreds_ of times before?

It didn’t work in their favor, though. They hadn’t been successful in fending off Megatron, and Sunstreaker had no more success in earning an actual _reaction_ from the guard holding him hostage.

Just a tight grip that loosened none no matter what he did. He wriggled and cursed, tugged and insulted, and just… _Nothing._

“You know he’ll just keep a hold of you until you calm down?”

Sunstreaker started, his gaze shooting up to see Starscream sneering down at him. Skywarp stood a step behind the other Seeker, looking at him too.

Sunstreaker sneered right back. _“Frag off.”_

Starscream _sighed_ like he might’ve when losing patience with an unruly youngling, and Sunstreaker growled in full offense. “Can’t you be _smart_ about this, _Sunstreaker?”_

Did Starscream seriously expect he’d just _behave?_ Be like everyone else in his goddamned place, obedient and spiritless? All of their corners shaved smooth and pieces broken off to fit the mold expected of them? That _Megatron_ expected of them? Spread their legs on demand, fuck and _rape_ on demand?

_Never._

“I don’t know what the _pit_ is wrong with you,” Sunstreaker continued, uselessly wrenching against the guard’s hold once more just to show he wasn’t _done_ only because some stupid odds were stacked against him, “but I will _never_ be like you. _Go to hell.”_

He knew there was fire in his optics like there was in his spark—and he swore to himself he would sooner _die_ than let it go out. This wouldn’t break him, none of this would.

He would not become like _them._

Skywarp glanced at Starscream uncertainly, but Starscream didn’t look too impressed. “They all say that,” he just said, with the tone of someone who found this whole thing _boring._

Like it meant nothing to him that he confirmed he had been there to witness this very thing happening to others before them. Had seen others struggle and fight, defy with _all their power…_

What had become of them? Were they still here, walking these very halls—living ghosts of what they’d once been?

Maybe it had happened to _them,_ but it wouldn’t happen to _him._ Or to Sideswipe. They were stronger than that, and they would prove it for everyone to see.

Right before beating it the hell out of here. He would refuse to accept this life to the last pulse of his spark.

They would get out, or die trying.

But he was sure that if he told as much to Starscream, that would be reported directly to _Megatron,_ and then what? Would they receive some wild punishment to _fuck_ that idea right out of their helms?

Or did everyone expect that was what they were trying to do? If they weren’t the first… There had to have been others.

And some _had_ to have gotten out, too.

He came to the unpleasant conclusion that in order to get out of here, they might just have to play the _long game._

But if that’s what it took… So be it.

By any means necessary.

Maybe Starscream had intended to dispirit him, but all he achieved was a strengthening of his resolution. _Sunstreaker_ was not like everyone else. He was not a weak-willed _little thing_ without enough self-respect to not bend the knee to one despot’s and his lackeys’ idea of what he should be, what he should do.

 _He_ would choose what he was. If he hadn’t accepted the life of a lowly criminal, if he’d aimed for genuine recognition for his art… Then he wouldn’t accept this either. He would shoot higher and brighter and Megatron would _burn_ right along with everyone that kissed the tyrant’s goddamned pedes.

His determination must have shown, because Starscream raised his optical ridges, _unimpressed._ Skywarp looked even more uncertain behind him, but Sunstreaker locked himself in a staring contest with the one _mate_ that seemed to run the show when Megatron wasn’t around.

“Look at you,” Starscream said, never once taking his optics off of his—and Sunstreaker, in return, never once averting his gaze for even a _second._ “Held so easily by a mere _guard._ Who do you think you are? _What_ do you think you are?”

“Worth more than _this.”_

“That remains to be seen, doesn’t it?”

No, it didn’t. Every living being was worth more than _this._ Sunstreaker especially, sure, but nothing and no one should go through the kind of slag they had been put through in the past few orns—he wasn’t an altruistic mech, but he didn’t need to be to see that much. Even just a crumb of morality was enough for it.

This.

Was.

_Wrong._

They stared at each other, both too stubborn to look away and _lose._ Skywarp was glancing between them, his wings beginning to twitch more and more as time passed and neither Sunstreaker nor Starscream yielded. 

Finally, the purple Seeker’s patience ran out. “Let it go, Star,” he said, laying a hand on Starscream’s arm. Starscream didn’t look away at first, but after a tense moment, he huffed, straightened, turned on his heel and began a march down the corridor. He flicked his digits at Skywarp as he went, and after one more glance at Sunstreaker and with a silently mouthed ‘Sorry’, Skywarp followed after his… What? What were they? _Trine?_ Didn’t Seekers do that?

They were the only two Seekers he’d seen, so maybe. It didn’t look like they exactly had a lot of _options_ to choose from around here.

Sunstreaker growled after them and tugged, once again, against the hold the guard had of him. And, once again, it earned him nothing but further strain on components already complaining about minor damage.

He could turn that into _major_ damage. See what Megatron thought when one of his _mates_ got injured, and not by him. Would it be on Sunstreaker’s head, or the guard’s?

He would find out.

But just as he was about to wrench away with enough force to definitely tear his shoulder, the guard moved and kicked his legs from under him. Sunstreaker went down with a surprised grunt, and instantly the black mech was on him, pinning him—harmlessly—to the floor.

Sunstreaker swore with enough volume that some of the other mates came out into the hallway to see what was happening. None of them stayed for long after they realized it was just Sunstreaker finding out that apparently the guards would neutralize him rather than letting him use them to damage himself. Because as it was, the expert hold he was in immobilized him just enough that there was no way he could throw or twist himself that would’ve more than _scuffed_ him.

As angry as it made him, it did also make sense, in the completely twisted logic of this damn _palace._ Megatron came off as more than a _smidge_ possessive type. Sunstreaker doubted he would have treated the guards well if they damaged his _property,_ any more than he would have appreciated Knock Out molesting them while they were in his care.

And as thoroughly as he was held down, even now no servos or pedes were anywhere close to having a more… _Suggestive_ touch about them.

Just business, the guard protecting everyone from damage by keeping the threat to the peace and order in check. Oh, wouldn’t want the _new acquisition_ rocking the boat too much by misbehaving while _master_ wasn’t there. 

His engine was roaring, but he could curse the guard, the other mates, the harem wing, the palace, and _Megatron_ all he wanted. It earned him nothing from the stoic mech that rode out all of his struggles without any visible strain.

His stubborn pride wouldn’t allow him to just stop, though. Even when it looked like there was no way he would get free by doing anything other than what Starscream said— _calm down_ —he couldn’t admit defeat so easily. Not in this, not in anything else.

And _that_ would be what would get him through all of this victorious. The fight would not be easy; it would be long and littered with setbacks and battles lost, but he was prepared for that.

_By any means necessary_

No matter the cost.

* * *

They stayed there quite a while, with the guard showing no signs of tiring, and Sunstreaker refusing to go quiescent like would’ve most likely earned him his freedom. They stayed there long enough, in fact, that the doors opened again. Sunstreaker turned his helm to see who had the rights to open them, only for his optics to travel up long legs until he could recognize… Megatron.

Of course.

“Well, isn’t this quite peculiar,” the tyrant drawled. Sunstreaker revved his engine and fought just that much harder, for all the good it did him.

“You fucking bastard! Where’s Sideswipe?” Why was Megatron here, without Sideswipe? He quickly scanned Megatron’s frame, but could see no signs of recent interface. Or even not so recent interface.

But that didn’t necessarily mean anything. He could’ve just cleaned up.

“Right where I want him,” came Megatron’s answer. Sunstreaker growled from both vocalizer and engine until he felt like both might give out on him, but Megatron–

Ignored him in favor of continuing down the hall. Starscream was standing at one of the doorways and Megatron gestured him along as he went by, and together the two walked to the very end of the hallway and the doors there that opened to a room that had never been a part of their little tour of the wing.

He would have given more thought to what might lie beyond if it wasn’t for the affront of getting dismissed so easily.

...Followed by the incredulous thought that did he _really_ want Megatron’s attention on him for any length of time.

The answer would be a resounding _no,_ but that didn’t mean Sunstreaker was ready to be discarded so easily.

Oh, the conflict.

* * *

As much as he would have never wanted it to, the fight did eventually leave him. Mostly out of boredom. It just wasn’t very entertaining to lay there on the ground, ruining his finish between the floor and the unrelenting guard. Beyond annoyed with himself, Sunstreaker nevertheless stilled, resting his forehelm against the cool floor and puffing out aggravated ventilations. His field lashed out too, but for the life of him he couldn’t teek either guard’s field.

Seriously, what the pit were these mecha?

He got to lay there for a while longer, but as the minutes stretched on and he did no more, the guard did _eventually_ get off of him and release him. Somewhat cautiously, which was very satisfying, but in the name of getting to do something else for a change, take his fight elsewhere, Sunstreaker didn’t give him more reason to keep him down.

He picked himself up from the floor once the guard had returned to his post like nothing had happened—although with some paint transfers on him now, Sunstreaker noted _gleefully_ —and with a final glare at the mech Sunstreaker stalked off.

His frame was shaking just so, and that had nothing to do with being held against the floor for so long. He hadn’t seen Megatron leave the wing, which he definitely would have if the main doors were the only way in and out like everything so far suggested they were.

Which meant Megatron was still in the mystery room with Starscream, and not with Sideswipe.

That was… Good, probably. Or was it?

Where had he left Sideswipe and why?

What was happening to his twin?

It was a mix of worry and anger that had him shaking as he marched to the other end of the hallway and planted himself against the wall next to the doors Megatron and Starscream had gone through. The damn _dictator_ would need to get past him to leave the wing.

He _would_ have some answers.

Sunstreaker got to wait a good while more before the doors opened again. Starscream came out first, shooting him a surprised look before that morphed into a scowl and the Seeker started down the corridor.

But Sunstreaker didn’t care about that. He only cared about the mech that came out _next._ Megatron glanced at him as Starscream had, but if he was surprised to see him, he didn’t show it.

“Where. The slag. Is. _Sideswipe?”_ Sunstreaker ground out, stepping in front of the tyrant to block his way. “What did you do to him?!”

“My, aren’t you an eager one,” Megatron intoned, but made no move to sidestep him. “You’ll have your turn still, fear not.”

“I don’t want my turn!” _—He did, if it meant he’d get to be with Sideswipe again—_ “Where did you _leave_ him?” He was snarling so low his vocalizer was aching, but he paid it no mind. Sunstreaker took another step towards Megatron, tilting his helm back to stare the tyrant in the optic.

Was Megatron… Impressed? He almost looked like he was, subtle as all expression on his face was, and still as his field was.

If he was, he didn’t say as much. “Step aside, Sunstreaker.”

 _Frag that._ “Make me,” Sunstreaker growled.

He wasn’t wholly prepared for Megatron to do just that, swiftly and violently. He could see the tyrant’s arm moving, but he didn’t have the reflexes to get out of the way before he was backhanded across the face with enough force to send him crashing against the wall. _Hard._

It was half of a miracle he didn’t go down entirely, but Sunstreaker managed to keep his pedes under himself. He gasped from the pain that bloomed across the side of his face and helm.

And Megatron, without another look at him, walked past him.

Sunstreaker would’ve growled at his retreating back, but his head was spinning from the double impact of servo and wall and it took him too long to reorient himself. Megatron was gone by the time Sunstreaker managed to push himself off the wall—barely. He still needed to lean a servo against it.

That didn’t stop him from glaring daggers at the wing’s main doors, as if he could’ve opened them with sheer force of will and conjured either Megatron or Sideswipe through them.

Megatron so he could’ve given the fragging despot _a piece of his mind_ —because that was working out so well—or Sideswipe so he’d just have Sideswipe _here_ again.

He had to avert his gaze from the doors when a winged black and purple frame stepped in his way. “You should go to Knock Out to have that checked,” Skywarp said, gesturing vaguely at the side of his helm.

Sunstreaker scowled, then snarled. “Why don’t you mind your own fragging business?”

Skywarp opened his mouth to speak, thought better of it—rinse and repeat a few times before he actually landed on words he spoke out loud. Still, they were said quietly, though Sunstreaker wasn’t sure if Skywarp didn’t want to be overhard or…

Really, he just didn’t know the reason. “You won’t help anyone by being injured,” Skywarp said, and frag but Sunstreaker didn’t want him to be right. He snarled again. “Knock Out’s here for stuff like this,” the Seeker added, before he turned away and disappeared into the entertainment room. Sunstreaker frowned after him.

But it wasn’t like Skywarp didn’t have a point.

* * *

He did visit Knock Out, had the dents ironed out, and was told his processors had been rattled some, but would recover with a bit of time. Knock Out was as clinically professional and efficient as ever, and Sunstreaker was out of his medbay in no time at all. 

What then? What were Megatron’s plans for his brother? What was he _doing_ to Sideswipe?

Sunstreaker became a silent vigil in front of the harem wing’s main doors, his plating clamped tight as he just… _Waited._ Megatron couldn’t keep Sideswipe indefinitely. He _couldn’t._ If nothing else, he’d tire of his twin eventually, right?

But after _what_ would he tire? How badly was he going to beat and rape Sideswipe? What was his end goal with separating the two of them, when he couldn’t use one as leverage over the other?

What would Sideswipe need to do to get the frag away from him?

Sunstreaker feared it would be nothing pleasant, and nothing… Nothing Sideswipe could just _shrug off._ Sideswipe was tough and they had both gone through a lot in their lives. If Sunstreaker had hardened, Sideswipe had barely changed. His ability to withstand without damage to his spirit was admirable.

But Megatron… The impression Sunstreaker was left with was that the tyrant reveled in _crushing_ spirit of that very kind. Loved _breaking_ the mecha that fell into his clutches.

What would he get back once Sideswipe was allowed to return? Would it be his twin, or just a shell of what he’d once been?

Could he build him back up?

* * *

Sideswipe didn’t return that night, or the next morning. _Megatron_ did, however. Sunstreaker tried to demand his attention, tried to get the answers Megatron fragging _owed_ him—because it was his _twin—_ but Megatron had _none_ of it. Sunstreaker was sent crashing into a wall all over again while Megatron just ignored the things he did to him and walked by. He gestured for another harem member, one of his _mates,_ to come along with him as he went, and they disappeared into the room at the end of the hallway again.

That was enough hints for Sunstreaker to guess the space beyond was probably something _interfacing_ related. Figures. That seemed to be all there was on offer here.

But he wasn’t one to quit just because things got a little rough. Sunstreaker made his way to the other end of the hall, and waited.

Megatron came out first, this time. Sunstreaker went entirely unacknowledged again despite his best efforts, aside from the harsh servo that all but threw him out of the tyrant’s way—and into the nearest wall, of course.

And Megatron left the wing without even glancing at him.

His vents cycled ragged rounds of air, fury burning wholly ineffectually. He couldn’t get Megatron to do anything he wanted of him. He couldn’t get answers, he couldn’t get so much as a _look_ unless the fragging despot wanted to _deign_ him with that level of attention. 

He’d only felt so powerless during their forced trip into Kaon. Even the rape that had followed didn’t quite match up—and at least then they’d been _together._

Now they didn’t have even that much. 

And Megatron was proving with everything he did and _didn’t_ do that they were _nothing_ here.

It was a pill Sunstreaker refused to swallow.

He stalked back to the medbay to have this round of dents and dings fixed out. Knock Out didn’t look too surprised to see him, just… _Exasperated._ “Really, Sunstreaker, this won’t earn you anything,” the medic chastised him. Sunstreaker hopped onto one of the medical berths as he was gestured to do and scowled at the smaller mech.

“But it’s not about earning things, is it?” Knock Out continued as he began to work on him, and Sunstreaker frowned harder. “Just about the _principle_ of things, hmm?”

Well… Yeah. Kind of. Oh, he wanted answers, definitely, but even if he didn’t get them… Even if the fight was pointless, he would have still fought.

Because none of this was acceptable, and accordingly he would not just lay there and _accept_ it.

He didn’t say anything, and Knock Out shrugged after a pause and said no more either. What did he expect Sunstreaker to do, anyway? Take heed of his words and consider the supposed futileness of what he was trying to achieve?

Or did Knock Out _expect_ anything, instead of just marking himself down as a spectator betting on who was going to win this particular battle of wills, and deciding they thought Megatron would be the ultimate winner? Like everyone else seemed to do, too?

Could he blame them? He’d call this war, but so far all there had been for them were losses.

How long could you continue any war if you were granted not a single victory along the way?

 _Forever,_ if that’s what it took.

* * *

“You need to refuel,” Skywarp came to say to him on the third orn of Sideswipe’s absence. Sunstreaker was standing at the main doors, resolutely staring at them as if he still believed his force of will would be enough to bring Sideswipe back.

When he glanced at Skywarp, he saw the Seeker with a cube in his servos, glowing delicious pink.

And again, Skywarp had a point. He was running on fumes at this point, which was a detail he’d forgotten to pay any mind to despite his HUD ever so helpfully reminding him of that fact.

Sunstreaker sneered. “Frag off. You’re fucking _sick_ if you think I’d take any help from _you_ after the slag you did,” he hissed out before turning his attention back to the door. He could feel the surprise in Skywarp’s field, followed after a moment by realization.

From the corner of his optic, he could see the flier’s wings droop.

“Oh. Well… I’ll just leave this here.” Skywarp stepped off to the side and set the cube down by the wall where it wouldn’t get trampled. Then he walked away, taking his dejected field with him. 

Was he seriously– This wasn’t even the first time. Was Skywarp _seriously_ sad that they wouldn’t just be friends with him after he’d joined in on raping them? He hadn’t even apologized! How fragging _messed up_ was his view of the world if he thought what he’d done _along with everyone else_ wasn’t grounds for lifelong _hatred?_

_Had he always thought like that?_

Or had Skywarp once been different? _Normal?_ A free mech with a healthy outlook that didn’t include a life of rape under the thumb of an _almighty_ tyrant? 

Did he want to know? Because if that was once Skywarp, if that was once any given member of the Primus damned _harem…_ What did that mean for them?

_It just meant they’d have to be stronger and smarter than they had been._

* * *

He did relent that night, after everyone else had retired to the berthroom to recharge. The cube was casting its light along the dimly lit hallway, and its temptation grew too much for his underfueled frame to take after there was no one but the ever present guards to witness his lapse. Carefully, like he was worried about waking the other occupants of the wing, Sunstreaker stepped over to the cube and picked it up. It smelled faintly like additives—enough to give it taste, but not so much it’d offend anyone who wasn’t a fan of the flavor.

Skywarp had been so… _Thoughtful._

It was just fragged up.

Despite his quietly growling engine, Sunstreaker brought the cube to his lips and downed it in a few gulps. The cube, now empty and a shameful evidence of the temporary break in his willpower, was quickly dispersed—although just its disappearance was all the evidence there needed to be.

He should have just gone to the dining hall and gotten a new cube if he was so _desperate_ to fuel. Too late now, though.

But if the others noticed the cube’s absence the next morning, they didn’t say anything about it.

* * *

Orns. Megatron would come in on almost regular intervals, inevitably ignore Sunstreaker no matter what he did—aside from carelessly damaging him if he got in his way, _without a glance, without a word_ —and take one of the mates with him to the room at the back. Most often it was Starscream, and sometimes there were more than one–

But never once was it Sunstreaker.

And there were no signs of Sideswipe. 

He didn’t want to feel offended that their number one assailant was paying him no mind whatsoever, but fraggit all, _he was offended._ How dare he just _ignore_ Sunstreaker? Even as he gave attention to the other mates? After he’d taken his _brother?_

Megatron owed him, but there was nothing Sunstreaker could do to make him pay that debt, and it wasn’t like he didn’t _try._ Knock Out didn’t even bother with looking annoyed anymore, just fixed him up and sent him on his way for him to inevitably return before too long.

Knock Out didn’t tend to his finish, though, in the frequent but brief moments Sunstreaker was in his care. And while none of the damage he’d taken was truly serious in any shape or form, it piled up to scuffed paint that stood out even worse in his recently repainted frame, when everything else was in such a shine. They were ugly patches all over him, and Sunstreaker couldn’t even see most of them himself. Not without a mirror.

But he knew they were there, and if nothing else would drive him mad, that would. After a time he couldn’t take it anymore and had to abandon the doors in favor of stalking into the washracks to tend to himself.

Even knowing Sideswipe likely didn’t have the same chance.

But if he’d wished for some peace and quiet while he worked… He wasn’t going to get that. As soon as he entered he could hear _moans_ among the run of solvent, and when his optics snapped to the direction of the sound, he could see one mate held against the wall by another.

And what else could they be doing but _interfacing._

The roaring rev of Sunstreaker’s engine was enough to startle the both of them, and they looked his way. “What the frag is _wrong_ with you?!” Sunstreaker growled, prowling closer to the two. To their credit, they saw the approaching danger and quickly disengaged from each other, as reluctant as they seemed to do so.

They were reluctant to _stop_ interfacing, but hadn’t thought twice about taking part in _raping_ them?

His anger rose to levels that blinded him, but his engine growled too hard and spooked the two—as well as everyone else in the washracks—into leaving the room. 

He was left with no targets. Oh, he could’ve gone after them, but he expected any attempt to inflict harm on his _confrères_ would end very badly for him, one way or another. 

That thought was _barely_ enough to dissuade him, but the concern of _what would happen to Sideswipe_ if Sunstreaker got himself in that big trouble was enough to still him.

What had he come here for? He now had the whole room for himself. There was no one to bother him while he touched up his finish.

But also, no one to help him. It went without saying he would have only accepted help from Sideswipe, but even Sideswipe wasn’t here.

When was the last time either of them had washed alone?

Grinding his denta, Sunstreaker marched over to the shelves of waxes and polishes. He hadn’t repeated the process since Knock Out showed it to them, but he’d genuinely paid attention to the medic’s instruction. After a moment of staring at the full shelves, he—albeit still a bit hesitantly—picked up one of the containers and considered it for a moment.

Opening it brought back more memories, and Sunstreaker set to work, slightly more confident that he knew what to do.

He couldn’t reach all of himself. Parts of his back and shoulders were just outside the range of how far he could bend himself in any direction, but he did everything he could and resolutely ignored the portions he couldn’t touch up. They stood out just so, an ugly reminder of the fact _Sideswipe wasn’t here._

Similarly he ignored the brand on his shoulder, an equally ugly reminder of _where they were,_ and what for. It wasn’t like he could forget that to begin with. Even his frame, as beautiful as it was, was only so because of what had happened. _His own body,_ even without the brand, was just another showcase of what they’d been turned into.

There was nothing that belonged to just him anymore, barely anything that tied him to the life he’d rather have. 

Nothing but Sideswipe, and now, not even that.

Alone. There were mecha around him, to the point of _privacy_ barely existing, but if they understood even a _fraction_ of what him and Sideswipe were going through, they were very, very bad at showing it. All they did was _join in_ on their abuse and willingly frag on their free time too, as if they weren’t at all put off by what was happening in their goddamn lives. How could they? Seeing what Megatron did around them, maybe even _to_ them too, _how could they?_

He could hear the door opening. A glance, and… _Skywarp._ Again. Couldn’t the damn winglet take a _hint?_

“Hi. I uh… Do you need help with getting to your back?” the Seeker asked, though to his credit he didn’t actually _enter_ the washracks, just peeked in through the doorway. 

_“No,”_ Sunstreaker snapped back, and would’ve turned to face the opposite direction if that wouldn’t have perfectly showcased his back and the fact he very much couldn’t reach it on his own.

Instead he glared at the flier until Skywarp began to fidget, then left with nothing more than a quiet, “Okay.”

Why the pit did the mech act like a kicked _puppy_ every time he was turned down? What else did he expect, after everything?

* * *

Still Sideswipe didn’t come back. Megatron stopped visiting after a while too. Sunstreaker stood by the main doors, and waited.

He did come to notice that the times a harem member left the wing were _very_ few and far between. A couple of times someone did, only to return some time later, _stinking_ of interface, but where they’d been, Sunstreaker had no idea. With Megatron?

Had they seen Sideswipe? He demanded to know.

They hadn’t, and after all of the aggression he had aimed at everyone, they weren’t too eager to talk with him any more than absolutely necessary.

And it was only a couple of times. The rest of the time… No one came in, no one went out.

Were they all just _trapped_ here? With the guards at the door making sure no one came or went without permission?

How could they seem so… _Okay_ with it? Okay with having all of their freedom stripped from them? With all of the interfacing, the rape, Megatron’s casual violence?

What was he missing from this image that would’ve made it all click into place and caused it to start making _sense?_

* * *

He was starving, again, the one cube he’d had since Sideswipe’s departure all but used up by his frame. But he couldn’t leave the doors—he couldn’t _not_ be there when Sideswipe got back. Stubbornly he refused his frame’s requests and dismissed the alerts and warnings.

Common sense said he would feel Sideswipe’s return before his brother ever made it to the doors. He could run back from wherever he was at the time. The harem wing wasn’t _that_ big.

Common sense had summarily gone out the window a long time ago.

* * *

He’d stopped counting the orns. There were so fragging many. How could Megatron keep Sideswipe this long? Was he even with Megatron anymore, or had something else happened to him? Been _done to him?_

There wasn’t even Megatron to harass for the small satisfaction of making himself even the smallest of nuisances, as easily as the tyrant swatted him aside every time.

Skywarp brought another cube to him after the warnings on his HUD had already turned red, and this time… He still snarled at the Seeker, told him to slag the right off, but after Skywarp had left the cube on the ground again, Sunstreaker only waited until he was gone from sight to go pick it up and fuel himself.

Because it was quickly becoming that or stasis, and he would be no use to Sideswipe if his frame was offline because of something he brought on himself.

The energon was consumed, the cube dispersed, and the wait continued, as uneventful as ever—but he could be patient, when he wanted to be. 

For Sideswipe, he would be.

And that night, his wait came to an _end._ Skywarp slipped out at one point and the guards made sure Sunstreaker didn’t get the chance to follow, but… It wasn’t long after that that he could feel _Sideswipe_ come closer. His spark sang, relief and anticipation filling it to the brim—and then that relief died away when his other half barely responded to it.

It was replaced by concern.

But what had he expected? That Sideswipe would be just as he was when he’d left? After all this _time?_ After everything he’d been put through? Sunstreaker didn’t even know the details, but he didn’t rightly need to to know it could only be bad things. 

Whatever Megatron had done… He didn’t want to say it had _worked,_ but… Something had happened all the same.

Sideswipe wasn’t the same.

And it would be up to him to build him back up. _Fix_ him. 

He paced in front of the doors like the caged animal he was as he waited the _too long_ time it took for Sideswipe to trek back. Then, _finally,_ the doors opened to admit both his brother and Skywarp.

Sunstreaker barely allowed Sideswipe to step into the wing, only waited for as long as it took for them to advance far enough that the guards wouldn’t try to stop him–

Before he hurried on, ignoring everyone and everything else until there only existed _Sideswipe_ and their spark. The pull was desperate and he didn’t even try to deny it, only listened to it and grabbed his twin into his arms, pressing their chests together. 

Sunstreaker was venting heavily.

Sideswipe was frightfully still.

It took him too long to react, but he did, eventually, and Sunstreaker could feel Sideswipe’s arms wrap around him in return.

And hold tight. Hold so tight. 

Sunstreaker buried his face into Sideswipe’s shoulder and Sideswipe pressed his face into Sunstreaker’s neck. _“I missed you,”_ Sideswipe said, with so much emotion in just those three words—so much misery, so many unspoken things.

So much love.

“I missed you too,” Sunstreaker whispered back, just focusing on _feeling._

Feeling his brother. Physically, Sideswipe was barely damaged. Whatever Megatron had done, he hadn’t beaten him. That was a relief.

But a very small one, because when he pulled back to cast his own optics down Sideswipe’s frame, the signs of interface were _everywhere._ He was clean, surprisingly, but scuffs and paint transfers littered his frame at all the suspect locations.

So Megatron had forced him. Repeatedly. But without using physical force?

Sideswipe was so still. Listless, staring at his own pedes. Still in frame, still in spark.

He looked and felt so _small,_ and Sunstreaker was no larger than his twin.

Skywarp cleared his vocalizer, and Sunstreaker’s gaze snapped right to him with a growl. He’d already forgotten the Seeker was there, but there he stood, watching them.

Sideswipe didn’t even react.

“Knock Out will want to see him,” Skywarp said as an explanation for the interruption.

Sideswipe nodded, and Sunstreaker glanced back at him.

If Sideswipe wanted to see Knock Out… Then Sideswipe would get to see Knock Out.

Sunstreaker nodded too, and grabbed his brother by the arm to lead him to the nearest doors down the hallway. It grated on him that Skywarp followed a step behind them, but just when he would’ve turned around to snap at the Seeker, something else caught his attention as a much more urgent matter.

Something about his brother.

“Sideswipe, why do you walk like that?” he asked in alarm, staring at his twin’s step, but… No, he wasn’t imagining things.

“Like what?” Sideswipe asked back, lifting his optics enough to blink at him. Confusion.

He didn’t notice..?

“It’s called the lover's gait,” Skywarp piped up just as the medbay doors opened to admit them, and Sunstreaker felt a considerable amount less annoyance at hearing him now that the flier was actually being informative and _somewhat_ useful.

But the explanation still rang empty to him. “The _what?”_

Knock Out was present in the medbay proper and glanced their way as they entered. Evidently he heard Skywarp’s answer, because he drawled, “Do you want the medical reason for it?” Sideswipe was gestured to get up on one of the berths, which he did too _lifelessly._

Before Sunstreaker could answer this way or that, Knock Out had already continued. “When someone is as _well endowed_ as our Lord Megatron, and their partner this small,” the medic patted Sideswipe’s stomach, but where Sunstreaker had expected his brother to flinch at the contact, he did just… Nothing, “the hips naturally have to split apart to _accommodate._ Repeated often enough and they remain in that position, causing the sway that’s called the _lover's gait._

“Many find it attractive,” Knock Out concluded with a shrug before he went about inspecting Sideswipe from helm to pede.

“Is it _permanent?”_ Sunstreaker asked sharply.

Skywarp responded, the Seeker shrugging too, “Eventually, yeah. Everyone here has it.” Apparently to demonstrate, Skywarp walked the length of the medical bay, then back.

And there it was. He hadn’t paid it any attention before because he’d had nothing to contrast it to like he did with Sideswipe, but the Seeker’s step had the same side to side motion that Sideswipe now sported. His hips and aft swayed in a way that was nothing short of suggestive—downright erotic, if you were so inclined.

Horror settled deep in his tanks. It wasn’t enough that they were branded and raped up and down their frames so far it broke their calipers into entirely new specifications. It had to have other visible ramifications too—ones that Megatron no doubt enjoyed, if he was counted among the ‘many’ that found it attractive. “Can you fix it?” Sunstreaker asked from Knock Out.

...Sideswipe was crying. Without a sound, not so much as a hitch in his engine, but tears were softly running from the corners of his optics. It had nothing to do with Knock Out’s inspection of him, and everything to do with the same thought tracks Sunstreaker had entered.

Their frames were being molded, _ruined,_ all against their will, and there was nothing they could do about it. 

“I _could,_ but Lord Megatron doesn’t allow that,” came Knock Out’s answer, and Sunstreaker couldn’t even say he was surprised to hear that. “He rather enjoys it.”

“Of course he does,” Sunstreaker spat out. He was shaking again, anger building without an outlet. But if _Megatron_ was here right now…

There was nothing _excusable_ in what that mech did, in the orders he gave. Just a selfish, hedonistic power trip free of anything even _resembling_ morals or care for another living being. 

Sideswipe didn’t say a thing, but the stillness in his spark finally gave way—although to nothing more than _pain_ that bled all over their spark like blood from a gruesome wound. Sunstreaker stepped up to him at once, laying a servo on his shoulder.

Sideswipe brought a servo of his own up to cover his with it, but his optics didn’t move from their stare towards the ceiling. 

“If you’d spread your legs for me,” Knock Out said, but it sounded hazy, from far away. Sideswipe nevertheless obeyed, but the feel of his spark—it barely changed, even though Sunstreaker was damn sure having his valve prodded at after what Megatron had done to him should’ve set him off. 

But it didn’t, and that had him even more worried than a frightful or violent reaction would’ve. 

Knock Out fixed Sideswipe’s horn in short order after he’d triaged the pitiful extent of the damage on him, then stepped back with a wave of ‘you can get up now’. “You’re in good health aside from needing to recharge your batteries and defrag your memory banks. Go do that. Doctor’s orders.”

Sideswipe nodded mutely, closed his covers, and slid off the berth to stand next to Sunstreaker. Sunstreaker caught his servo and gave it a squeeze.

His spark ached at the small, tumultuous smile Sideswipe forced for his benefit.

Skywarp left the medbay ahead of them, and by the time they made it to the doors, the Seeker was already gone. _Good riddance,_ Sunstreaker thought. Clearly Skywarp seemed to think he was somehow helping them, or _trying_ to help them, but that wasn’t about to earn him _forgiveness._ Nothing would.

“Should we visit the washracks first?” Sunstreaker asked once the medbay doors had closed behind them, leaving them in the relative privacy of the hallway.

Sideswipe did need recharge, that was obvious for the world to see, but he would be more comfortable without all the faults in his paint job, right? It was surprising that was all there was. Maybe Megatron had allowed him to clean up, just not fully.

“Yeah, sure.” With that answer Sunstreaker carefully tugged him along and led the way to the washracks. They weren’t empty this time either, but a _glare_ from him had the other occupants finishing and clearing out quickly.

He seemed to be getting a bit of a _reputation._

Satisfying.

With just his spark present, Sunstreaker gently directed Sideswipe under one of the showers and handed him a scrub. He took one for himself too, and together they began to wash away the transfers of grey paint, Sideswipe where he could reach, and Sunstreaker where he couldn’t.

It didn’t take too long, between their two frames. They went over to the polishing products next, and Sunstreaker quietly repeated the instruction Knock Out had given them what felt like a forever ago, when Sideswipe didn’t seem to remember himself.

Sunstreaker couldn’t fault him for it with his brother’s current state of mind. Sideswipe struggled to be present and not just… Shut down. Close himself off to the world and escape it all, like he probably had needed to do just to… Just to survive what Megatron had done to him. 

“Your back,” Sideswipe spoke up when they were already almost done with the red frame. Sunstreaker stilled before nodding wordlessly.

He could use help with it.

Sideswipe nodded back, but when Sunstreaker turned to give him access to his back and Sideswipe prepared to use the buffer…

He stalled.

Not only that, but Sunstreaker could feel _turmoil._ It came out of nowhere, a maelstrom that swallowed up everything else until only _it_ was left, and oh, what it was.

Hurt, hurt, hurt. Plea and powerlessness that culminated in _humiliation._

Sunstreaker spun on his heel, back to facing Sideswipe, and caught him by the upper arms. His servos quickly slid up to cradle Sideswipe’s helm in his servos, but Sideswipe wouldn’t look up.

He was shaking. No, crying. Crying and shaking, but again, with no sound whatsoever.

Just… Silent, which was so unlike him that Sunstreaker wasn’t sure what to even _do._

“Sideswipe?” he asked, brushing his thumb along the wet tear tracks and smudging the brown of it on his brother’s pale cheek. It did nothing to dry the steady stream.

“I’m sorry,” Sideswipe whispered, but before Sunstreaker could say he had absolutely _nothing_ to apologize for, Sideswipe had already continued, “He- He made me wash him.

“It’s stupid, I’m not even- I’m not washing you, but- I- I don’t understand why this would be-” he stammered, staring at the buffer he was gripping too tight. It didn’t matter if he didn’t get all of the words out, though. His spark made up for everything missing.

Everything he’d done just in the name of getting back to Sunstreaker, the desperation of _when_ and of _how much more,_ how all of the small things had piled and piled.

Obedience, subservience, indignity.

So much shame. How he’d just _done_ it, not always even _trying_ to resist. 

And how he'd ultimately given in even when he had tried to refuse.

It was a torrent Sunstreaker struggled to withstand, and ended with him hugging Sideswipe all over again, Sideswipe’s face pressed tightly against his shoulder. “I-I didn’t _have_ to do any of it,” Sideswipe whispered. “He didn’t force me.”

 _“Yes he did,”_ Sunstreaker growled fiercely, holding him tighter, if that was possible. Sideswipe’s doubt was ricocheting around their spark, his inability to believe the classification of his experiences.

_Consent under duress wasn’t consent._

But Sideswipe struggled with that. “He coerced you,” Sunstreaker said, willing out loud and in spark for Sideswipe to listen and believe _him,_ if he couldn’t trust himself anymore. “Maybe he didn’t force you _physically,_ but that doesn’t change a _thing,_ Sideswipe. _It doesn’t change a thing.”_

“I just wanted to get back to you. He wouldn’t let me if I didn’t- If I didn’t do like he _said.”_ The end of the sentence broke into a sob, and that was the end of Sideswipe’s quiet. He still wasn’t loud. He didn’t wail, but his engine cut off only to restart unevenly; his ventilations stalled every few moments.

His vocalizer produced static that he struggled to overcome to say more. “Primus, Sunny, _I’m so sorry._ I didn’t- I didn’t want to give in, but _I wanted back to you._ He just kept demanding things-”

“Don’t you dare apologize to me,” Sunstreaker murmured quietly but firmly, bringing one of his arms higher to grasp the back of Sideswipe’s helm.

To hold him ever closer. “And you think he didn’t force you. Look at you. If he didn’t force you, would you feel like this?” 

Sideswipe huffed through his tears, a wry kind of acceptance producing a single pulse in their spark. “Point taken.” He pulled back enough that he could bump his forehelm to Sunstreaker’s.

They stayed there for a good moment, basking in it, the presence of their brother.

The relief it was, the _finally_ that they’d waited for—done so much for, on Sideswipe’s part.

Neither wanted to rush things, and it was only a generous while later that either of them spoke up again. “You need rest and a good defragging,” Sunstreaker quietly repeated what Knock Out had already said.

But maybe it’d mean more coming from him. “Sort your head out.”

“Yeah,” Sideswipe agreed in an equal whisper. They quickly put away everything they’d used and crept out of the washracks. It was well into the _quiet hours_ and there was really no one around when they made their way down the hall and back into the library. It was empty, everyone most likely recharging in the berthroom.

But being around the lot of them… _No way._

Even if their assigned cots may have been more comfortable than the couch they piled on, Sunstreaker laying across its length, Sideswipe atop him.

“Have you recharged at all?” Sideswipe asked from him as they hardlined to sync their memory files. He must have noticed the lacking charge in his batteries—just like Sunstreaker noticed how low Sideswipe’s batteries had gotten.

“No,” he replied honestly. “But neither have you.”

“...Yeah.”

They didn’t say anything more. Recharge, defrag—that was what they needed.

Proximity, a whole load of comfort.

Together.

* * *

The library was as much of a safe haven as there was going to be in a place like this, and there they rested surprisingly well, all things considered. They had never been ones to recharge too deeply, anyway. The streets weren’t a very safe place; keeping enough systems on to be ready for anything at a moment’s notice was all but mandatory, unless one of them was staying up as a watcher.

It was no different here. They weren’t safe. Who knew what could happen next, coming from either Megatron, the guards, or the other mates.

None of them could be _trusted._

They were proven right again on that front, come morning. Their batteries hadn’t even gained full charge yet before their scanners warned them of the approaching proximity of an unidentified someone. Sunstreaker couldn’t tell which one of them was awake and aware first, or if they had accomplished the feat on the same second.

But they didn’t quite have the time to get up before one of the mates circled the shelves to approach them. “Morning. I hope you recharged well,” they said with a smile.

Neither of the twins did anything more than growl and glare, and the expression was swiftly wiped from the mate’s face.

They straightened, and went straight to business instead. Forget pleasantries. “Sunstreaker, Megatron’s summoned you. He wants you there.

“Right away.

“And alone. Sideswipe wasn’t included in the summons.”

The look they gave the red twin could almost be called apologetic. Sideswipe only returned it with one of abject horror.

Sunstreaker snarled. _“My turn,_ huh?”


	9. ...They Just Cut You Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While writing this I was _thoroughly_ entertained by everything Megatron did to Sunstreaker.
> 
> As always, end notes for all the shit that happens in this one.

“No no no no no. _No!”_ Sideswipe chanted, clutching tight onto Sunstreaker’s plating, well past the point of comfort. His twin’s panicked optics were traveling between the mate— _bearer of bad news_ —and Sunstreaker. _“No…”_

“It’ll be fine. _Sideswipe.”_ Sideswipe wouldn’t pay him mind, too busy venting too fast. Sunstreaker caught him by the back of his helm, gently, and equally gently forced Sideswipe’s forehelm against his own, staring into his optics.

Trying to will him to believe him. _“I’ll be fine.”_

“No…” Sideswipe hung onto him, and pits but it hurt to know that everything Megatron had done to Sideswipe had destroyed his brother’s faith in Sunstreaker’s strength… And built his faith in Megatron’s unrivaled _wickedness._

Sunstreaker set his jaw. Maybe Sideswipe wasn’t able to withstand it. He’d never blame his brother for that, but maybe it was the case. Maybe Megatron was wholly used to winning and getting his way—used to destroying everyone that fell into his realm.

Well, he’d never met Sunstreaker before all of this. Even if everyone else had failed, Sunstreaker wouldn’t. _He’d_ provide Megatron with a match, _he’d_ be someone who withstood everything the tyrant threw at him. 

Megatron wouldn’t _break_ him as he had broken everyone else… As he had broken Sideswipe.

But he would fix Sideswipe too, yet. He could undo this.

First, though… Sunstreaker held onto Sideswipe a bit tighter for a moment longer, before he pecked a kiss on his twin’s cheek and then gently pushed him away. Sideswipe fought against that, intent on not letting Sunstreaker _go…_ But this couldn’t be avoided any more than they were able to avoid having Sideswipe taken.

It was only a matter of time, no matter how they fought.

Might as well get it over with. “Sideswipe, please…” Sunstreaker murmured, resolutely getting his brother off of him enough that he could sit up, then stand.

Sideswipe was crying, tears running down the seams on his cheeks. His spark was a mess, all of the hurt of the past orns so _fresh._ They hadn’t had the time to sort any of that out, and now they wouldn’t get the chance.

Was this all according to Megatron’s plan too? Had to be. 

Sideswipe feared the worst, and after how hard he’d been beaten… Not _physically,_ but emotionally and in spirit… It really wasn’t a surprise. Sunstreaker couldn’t fault him.

“Please, Sunny, don’t– Don’t go. I can’t– He’ll– Pits, _the things he does,”_ Sideswipe gasped, looking up at him, and Sunstreaker couldn’t not lean down to touch their helms together, just one more time. 

“I can handle it, Sideswipe, I promise,” he said quietly, and when he pulled away, it was with a reassuring smile. “I’ll be okay. No matter what he does.”

Sideswipe still didn’t believe. “Don’t go…” his voice was barely above a whisper, a broken little thing as he caught onto Sunstreaker’s arms, digits gripping tight.

Sunstreaker gently pried himself free. “I have to.” He didn’t want to, he’d never _want_ to, but this was one thing that couldn’t be avoided. One way or another, he’d end up in Megatron’s quarters and at his mercy.

The difference was that he could be dragged there, or he could take what little autonomy he had and walk there on his own two pedes—show Megatron he wasn’t _afraid._

Even though he was. He’d always thought of Sideswipe as capable of bouncing back from anything, because so far he _had._ Nothing had ever gotten to him to this extent, and Sunstreaker… Wasn’t so sure Sideswipe would just _bounce back_ this time.

Megatron had accomplished that. If he could do this to Sideswipe, what did he have in store for Sunstreaker?

 _It didn’t matter._ He’d take it all, and survive it.

It didn’t matter.

“I’ll be back. Hold tight for me, okay?” he asked of Sideswipe with another small but steady smile, before the expression flattened away and he turned to the other mate _witnessing_ the whole thing. “Will you escort me?”

“If you want me to.”

Sunstreaker nodded and walked after the mate—refusing to look back, knowing what he’d see.

Sideswipe, sitting on the couch in the only place they’d found anything even remotely like solace from in here, with his helm clutched in his servos, crying over the inevitability of it all, hurt so badly by the knowledge there was nothing he could do for Sunstreaker.

Any more than Sunstreaker was able to do for him when their positions were reversed.

Sideswipe ached for him and he ached for Sideswipe until their spark felt like it might collapse in on itself, but he, _they,_ had to stay strong and endure. Just until they got out of here.

It wouldn’t be forever, even if it might feel so.

He walked out of the library with his head held high, then through the doors the guards opened for them, all the way through mighty hallways until they came to _those_ doors. “Stay safe,” the mate that had accompanied him so far said as the guards at these doors opened them.

Sunstreaker was pretty sure he knew the routine by now. He alone would go in, because Megatron hadn’t asked for anyone else.

So be it.

He nodded his vague thanks to the mate that then turned around to head back to the harem wing, while Sunstreaker… He cycled a deep ventilation, steadied himself, and walked through the doors into the gloomy hallway beyond. The sound of the doors closing behind him felt like the crack of thunder in the otherwise silent space. 

This was it: trapped in Megatron’s wing of the palace until the tyrant deemed he felt like allowing him to leave.

Sunstreaker tried not to think about the things he would need to do to get back out. There was no point in concocting all manner of horror stories in his head; that would earn him absolutely nothing except rampant discouragement—the _last_ thing he needed.

Would Megatron be at the lounge at the back again? Seemed likely. Those doors were open to allow faint light to stream into the hallway, and as Sunstreaker walked onward, he could see that all other doors were closed.

Just one way to go, then. 

He had to focus on keeping his back straight, to not let his fear get the better of him, but he was _Sunstreaker._ He didn’t bow or cower, never had, never would. It had gotten him in trouble before, and he was sure it would get him in trouble now, but it’d be worth it to show Megatron where he could stuff it—and that _wasn’t_ Sunstreaker’s valve or throat.

Like the proud thing he was, he walked into the lounge, pulling his field tight to hide his real feelings. He wouldn’t give Megatron a _shred_ of the satisfaction of knowing he was trembling in spark.

The tyrant was standing to one side of the lounge, his servos clasped behind his back, looking out the windows there. Kaon’s cityscape stretched in all directions outside the thick glass, not so different from the view of the windows of the harem wing. Just displaying a different portion of the black towers of the fortress city. 

Sunstreaker stopped just inside the lounge, but that was enough to announce his presence to Megatron. He glanced over his shoulder, red optics calculating as they landed on him. “Swift. I like that.”

Sunstreaker growled. Frag it all, he didn’t want to do anything to please Megatron. Coming so soon was a mistake. He should have _dallied,_ it’s not as if he wouldn’t have been able to walk on his own two pedes even if he’d done that. But would that have told Megatron too much about his reluctance?

Was there _any_ winning?

...If this was setting the tone to their encounter, this… Would not go well.

But no. It’d suck, there was no question about that, but one way or another Sunstreaker intended to come out _on top._

Somehow.

He lifted his chin, challenge in the gesture. Megatron’s optics flashed at him, but then he just… Turned away to look back over _his_ city. “Go to the berthroom. We’ll start shortly.”

Start _what?_ His rape? And what, did Megatron seriously expect he’d just do that, because the _high and mighty_ leader ordered it?

_No way in pit._

Sunstreaker planted his pedes and made no move, only crossing his arms across his chassis and glaring at the tyrant’s back. Megatron waited a moment, then looked over his shoulder again, but there wasn’t… _Displeasure_ there. Sunstreaker wished there was, but maybe Megatron _hadn’t_ genuinely thought he’d do as he was told and had just tested his resistance.

The door next to him closed on a remote command, blocking his exit back into the hallway. Sunstreaker jumped to the side, away from the sudden motion, then cursed himself for being so _spooked_ by one Primus damned _door._

He growled, his glare growing more intense as it returned to Megatron. The tyrant had turned around and was facing him now, staring down at him with that look of _weighing_ him and his actions. His _worth._

“Go to the berthroom,” he repeated, but his voice and demeanor remained casual, like he wasn’t taking any of this too seriously. _Yet,_ anyway. No doubt he was confident he’d get his way eventually, but Sunstreaker vowed he’d have to _work_ for it.

“Go frag yourself,” he snarled, ready to _move_ because he thought he had a pretty good idea of where this was going to go. Back to the game of cat and mouse, with him trying to stay one step ahead but Megatron steadily cornering him, as he had every time before.

But the tyrant didn’t make a move at first. “While one of my mates is here? I don’t think so.”

Sunstreaker growled in true offense, his servos balling into fists—but what could he do with his anger? He’d seal his fate if he tried to get close to Megatron, and besides, what damage could he actually cause? “I am _not_ your mate,” he hissed, and even knowing it would be futile, he could _barely_ keep himself from closing the distance between them just to give the tyrant a physical piece of his mind.

Frag him and _frag_ this whole place.

“On the contrary,” Megatron said, frightfully calmly for a mech of his supposed temperament, as little as Sunstreaker had seen him lose control in any shape or form. Megatron _was_ control based on his own personal experiences.

It was _hell._ “You will accept your new place in life eventually,” the tyrant continued, and _now_ he moved, a steady gait bringing him closer to Sunstreaker.

Sunstreaker snarled again, matching Megatron’s movement to keep as much of the distance between them as he could—at the very least, avoid getting within grabbing distance… Avoid being cornered to the point that couldn’t be avoided.

He’d like to think he was getting better at this already. Here’s hoping it’d be enough against Megatron.

“I will provide for you,” Megatron went on to say, and Sunstreaker _seethed_ at the _disgusting_ words he spewed, “in _all_ ways… And all you need to do in return is _as you’re told._

“I’d call that a rather generous bargain.”

 _What the pit was wrong with this mech?_ “You torture us, _rape_ us, and you expect us to be… What, _grateful?”_ Sunstreaker spat out, _shaking,_ but not from fear. He barely even felt that anymore, _anger_ having taken over. He let his field lash out with that, but it was only for it to get drowned out by Megatron’s—and Megatron’s field was all but empty with how neutral it was, a heavy, tasteless blanket that Sunstreaker couldn’t combat.

Control, and _power._ That was what Megatron was.

“My mechs fished you and your brother out from the gutters, to bring you to a life of _luxury.”_ _What luxury was there in getting raped time and time again?_ “And this is all on _you._ I wouldn’t need to do anything against your will if you consented.”

Sunstreaker’s vision blurred with fury, but what could he _do?_ He was vastly outmatched, and maybe he was already fighting a losing battle in trying to keep out of Megatron’s grasp, but pits, he wasn’t going to make this easier for the tyrant just because the things he said made Sunstreaker angry like he’d never been before. 

_Consent_ was just another word for _give up._ It would be achieved by coercion, nothing else, and that would _never_ be true consent. How could anyone honestly agree to interfacing in a situation like this? When they were forcefully put in their place as ones that only lived to _obey_ and _serve?_

 _“There’s no consent in a place like this,”_ Sunstreaker said with _heat._ “Even if someone says _yes_ after what you put them through… That’s just coercion. You still force them, and don’t you fragging _dare_ think otherwise.”

“I believe many of your fellows would disagree. They rather enjoy my attention.”

“Because you _broke_ them!” This time he yelled. That was what had happened to them, wasn’t it? Megatron had played his games, the same ones he was playing with them now, and he’d succeeded—succeeded in warping those mechs into something unrecognizable, that thought this was somehow _acceptable,_ even _desirable._

“I gave them a better life, as I did to you. They saw the value of it eventually.”

_Eventually._

His spark felt ready to combust, rage suffocating him, raising his core’s temperature— _impotent_ rage, because there was nothing he could do against Megatron.

That only made him angrier. 

Megatron had all but admitted to it. What had he expected? That he’d deny it? He’d already shown he thought this was _okay,_ that _he_ was doing nothing wrong. Why would he deny it if he believed he was fully within his rights? That… What, he was doing them a _service_ by showing them their new _place?_

Sunstreaker ground his denta together—servos came to his helmet and grasped it, _squeezing._

He was going to fucking explode, but for what? “You’re _sick,”_ he growled, barely above a whisper, but knowing Megatron heard him anyway.

“You’ll learn.” That was all Megatron said. So _fucking_ sure of himself and his ability to twist and bend a mech until they didn’t know which way was up.

Like he’d done to Sideswipe.

And Sunstreaker had stopped, overcome by emotion. That was all the time Megatron needed to close in on him, and then massive servos were already wrapping around his forearms. Sunstreaker yanked against the hold at once, his helm snapping up to glower at the tyrant–

But as ever, it was no use.

And he was too angry to even _give a damn._

Megatron dragged him, effortlessly, to the berthroom and lifted him onto his berth. Sunstreaker snarled and kicked at him, but the tyrant merely caught his pedes and forced his legs apart, stepping between them.

He wasn’t even given the option to retract his valve cover, not that he would have. Megatron servo slipped between them, his claws hooked into the small seams around the panel, and tore it clean off. Sunstreaker grunted from the discomfort, but that was _nothing_ compared to what followed. 

He couldn’t adequately prepare himself for the invasion by Megatron’s spike, even knowing how big it was and what it’d feel like. His back arched off the berth when Megatron released his spike and shoved _straight_ in, _pain_ the only thing his valve registered as he was split open wide—as Megatron rammed into the roof of his valve. Sunstreaker groaned despite himself, but Megatron didn’t seem to care about the visible and audible signs of the abuse his frame endured. All the tyrant did was set up a punishing pace, pulling out, slamming in, over and over.

It was excruciating after the orns of _not_ having it done to him. His frame had had the time to recover, repair itself, return to the state it was supposed to be in—or somewhere close to it, anyway.

It was a good feeling, knowing he wasn’t as ruined as he feared he was, that the things Megatron had done to him earlier hadn’t left permanent signs on him. He could only hope he’d recover from this round too.

The pain, that didn’t matter. It was just a welcome reminder of how much he wasn’t agreeing to this, even if he struggled to ride it out, his vents gasping as the dry, dry walls of his valve were scraped raw by Megatron’s length. He writhed on the berth despite himself, unable to quite smother his frame’s need to get _away_ from the mounting agony.

But his mind relished it.

Of course, Megatron very decidedly didn’t let him go anywhere. Sunstreaker’s wrists were transferred into one of Megatron’s servos, pulled above his helm and pressed against the berth’s surface, while Megatron’s other servo caught him by the hip with enough force to _dent,_ putting a cruel end to his lower end’s twisting and guaranteeing he could thrust in at the angle _he_ pleased. 

Sunstreaker panted and shut his optics tight, feeling his frame, then discarding it, shoving all the physical sensations aside with an iron will. Those? Those didn’t _matter._ He could take the pain. He could handle it.

Megatron would need to do much more than _that_ if he wanted to get to him.

It didn’t look like Megatron was trying to last long, rather he just wanted to get his pleasure of Sunstreaker’s frame quick and dirty. Soon he was already grinding their arrays together and Sunstreaker hissed as he felt a hot burst of transfluid against raw sensors.

He didn’t think it was over, and he was right. He opened his optics as Megatron pulled out, only to flip him around. Megatron climbed onto the berth behind him, and when Sunstreaker tried to lift himself on his hands and knees to have even _some_ hope of moving away… He was allowed to get his knees beneath himself, but Megatron used his superior strength to force his upper body flat on the berth despite the fight his arms tried to put up.

Aft up, and then the tyrant had already thrust back in. Sunstreaker grit his denta, twice so when Megatron caught his servos and again drew them up—but he interlaced their digits in some mock display of a lover’s _affection_ even as he trapped him in place, all but hidden underneath the larger mech’s bulk. 

And of course it continued, except this time Megatron’s thrusts were _lazy,_ almost shallow. Like he had all the time in the world to _enjoy_ Sunstreaker’s frame. 

It burned. His valve complained.

Not like he could do anything about it.

Then Megatron was again speaking nasty words. “Your brother bent so easily. Will you?”

Sunstreaker growled, jerking against Megatron’s hold, but it only tightened—a warning. “No he didn’t!” Sideswipe had held on for _orns_ before he had given Megatron what he wanted.

That wasn’t _easily._

“Oh, but he did.” ...Or was it, by Megatron’s standards? Had someone held out _longer_ in a similar situation? The _same_ situation? “Not even stasis. He wanted to get back to _you,_ didn’t he?”

He did, but that wasn’t for _Megatron_ to know. Sunstreaker’s engine revved. Sideswipe hadn’t chosen stasis, was that the _easy_ part? Was he _easy_ because he hadn’t wanted to be completely helpless? Because he had chosen the faster route out? Or what he’d _hoped_ was the faster route. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t, but it was the decision he’d made.

“And he was _rewarded_ for doing as he was told, wasn’t he?” Megatron lowered his voice and Sunstreaker could _feel_ the weight of his gaze bearing down on him, driving it home how little he could _do._

How stuck he was, forced to listen to Megatron’s venom. _“Shut up,”_ Sunstreaker growled, tugging again against the grasp of Megatron’s servos, trying to flatten himself to the berth—but all he earned was, again, the transfer of his wrists into one servo plenty big enough to hold both of them. Megatron’s other arm wormed under his stomach, lifting his hips back up and keeping them there for the tyrant to pump in out, in out. 

If nothing else, the transfluid was being spread around, somewhat easing the passage of the spike _too big._ “It doesn’t have to be like this,” Megatron continued, snapping his hips forward sharply enough to pull a hiss from Sunstreaker. “Relax and let me lead you, and it doesn’t have to hurt.”

_Never._

“It doesn’t matter what you’ll do,” Sunstreaker said, his engine revving—anger, so much anger, and barely a trace of fear anymore. “It doesn’t matter what you’ll try, you’ll _never_ get the better of me.” 

Megatron wasn’t convinced, no matter the fervor in Sunstreaker’s voice, the belief and trust he had in _himself._ “We shall see,” was all the tyrant said. Damn him for his arrogance, that ‘I will _always_ get my way’ attitude.

He’d met his match, now, even if it didn’t look like so when Megatron began to pick up his pace little by little, rocking his frame, keeping him pinned, completely at his nonexistent _mercy._ But Sunstreaker, he might’ve been the weaker one physically—but not in mind or _spirit._

He’d get through this, his will _unscathed_ on the other side.

Megatron overloaded again, except this time he pulled out to land his spill on Sunstreaker’s aft and back. He shuddered in disgust at the feel of the warm fluid soiling his plating, but Megatron got off of him.

If he’d thought that would be _it_ for now, though, he was wrong. Sunstreaker got his arms under himself and tried to move away, but Megatron had all the reach and merely snatched him before he got far enough—by the throat. Sunstreaker would have grunted if the hold wasn’t _tight_ enough to put too much pressure on his vocalizer for it to produce more than static. He was yanked upright against Megatron’s chassis until he could feel the thrum of the tyrant’s powerful engine against his back—feel the energy from his spark.

His legs kicked, or tried to, but they were bent too awkwardly for any true motion. Megatron’s other servo caught his hip, the side that he’d already left dents on, and lifted him high enough to _drop him_ down on his damned spike. Sunstreaker would have made some noise from the abrupt bloom of agony as his frame was spread wide on the inside again, but maybe Megatron wanted his quiet, or maybe he just wanted the _static,_ because that was all he got.

Then Megatron began to move him, the servo on his hip barely playing a part in it, most of the work done by the grip on his throat. Lift, drop, and Sunstreaker clawed at the servo holding him by the neck as that was repeated, and repeated, and _repeated,_ straining components that were never, ever meant to bear even a part of his weight.

He didn’t know which one began to hurt more, his valve or his neck, but he felt dizzy from the pain that assaulted him from those two locales. Hurt, so much of it, and it wasn’t there for _nothing._ True damage was caused by Megatron’s careless actions— _how intentionally was he doing this?_ —strain down below and up here both.

He wanted to scream, out of pain and frustration both, but how could he? Megatron’s hold was unrelenting, and to even avoid having his whole helm torn off his body, Sunstreaker had to grab hold of the arm holding him and lift himself enough that he was bearing his weight on his arms, not his neck.

It eased things, somewhat, although he wondered what Knock Out would find once he was allowed to return to the wing and no doubt fell under the care of the medic. Would he fix the parts on his neck where he decidedly did _nothing_ to the damage of one’s valve? 

Maybe he would find out eventually, or maybe Megatron would rather kill him here for his defiance—though he doubted that. Why would Megatron _give up_ like that? Wouldn’t he rather complete the process, or _try to,_ to leave Sunstreaker a hollow shell of himself, there to _please_ his _lord and master?_

His vocalizer might’ve been out of the game for now, but his engine wasn’t. Sunstreaker growled with it as Megatron fragged him, the tyrant occasionally shoving his hips _up_ as he dropped Sunstreaker _down,_ and the impact to the sensors at the very top and back of his valve was _never_ comfortable. 

This time, Megatron took his time. Despite the harsh pace he just _lasted_ and _lasted_ like he had complete control over what _should_ be the frame’s _automatic_ reactions—like he could just deny the pleasure he felt until he _pleased_ to overload. 

It was as insane as the rest of this.

And for Sunstreaker… They were excruciating minutes that Megatron hammered into him, his legs spread wide over Megatron’s thighs and the tyrant’s spike never quite leaving his valve, always staying partway in—always keeping him partially open, the entrance of his valve spread even when the rest of his valve wasn’t… And then all of his valve was, again.

He didn’t pray for it to end. He _wanted_ it to end, but Megatron wouldn’t reduce him to begging, not even in the privacy of his own head. 

After a length of time that was too long but that he could do nothing about, Megatron let his frame come down one more time, impaling him fully—and then he could feel the charge explode from the tyrant’s frame, transfluid shooting into his valve. Sunstreaker shuddered at the energy that tingled on his own plating. That seemed to be a _very_ nice overload, but even if it was… Megatron recovered alarmingly fast. The blue lights of his release had barely stopped dancing across his plating before he had already shoved Sunstreaker off his lap.

The way he fell onto the berth’s surface was far from graceful, his vocalizer clicking through several resets now that it wasn’t getting crushed by an unforgiving servo—and his neck hurt, it fragging _hurt…_ But nothing more was done to it in the moment. Sunstreaker wanted to rub it, test which areas hurt the most, judge what had suffered most significant damage…

But his arms shook and he wouldn’t have trusted only one of them to hold his weight.

 _Pain._ It shot through his body up and down—moving his helm, or indeed his lower half, that _hurt._

It likely wouldn’t have mattered even if he’d managed to gather himself enough to slip away, but Sunstreaker didn’t succeed in even that much before Megatron’s servo was already wrapping around his slim waist and pulling him back.

He growled, now that he could again, and twisted in the tyrant’s hold to break free from it. It only served Megatron’s ends, though, and he was turned over and around until he was laying on his front, Megatron’s crotch _uncomfortably_ close to his face. 

He had an idea of how this might go. Sunstreaker tried to push himself up to scoot back, but Megatron grabbed his helm in a hold that was just as tight as the one he’d had on his throat moments before, and it didn’t matter how Sunstreaker growled or how he bit his denta together—Megatron’s thumb cut into his mouth and pried his jaw open like he wasn’t even _trying_ to keep his mouth closed.

And with that out of the way, Megatron only needed to ignore his struggles to escape his grasp—and pits but he _tried_ —and manhandle him until his face was suspended above the damned mech’s damned spike… And what else but force him down on it, keeping Sunstreaker from turning his helm away, slipping the tip of his spike into his mouth, then _shoving_ him down on it all the way.

He didn’t want to cry out, but he did, at least until Megatron’s spike went deep enough to silence his vocalizer with pressure—from the _inside_ this time, instead of due to external reasons. 

He wished Megatron would have just kept using his valve. This was a hundred times worse, his throat feeling like it was going to rupture from the size of the thing forced down it. His calipers could do nothing—nothing he could’ve done would have prepared them for Megatron’s girth. They had to give way, violently pushed out of alignment to make room for what Megatron wanted of him—wanted of his throat. 

Tears came before he could stop them as Megatron used his grip on his helm to pull him back, then back down for the torture to repeat—but maybe not _quite_ as bad this time. The damage was already done. What more could he do?

What could Sunstreaker do? When his helm was pulled up next until just the tip of Megatron’s spike remained in his oral cavity, he _bit down._ Except hadn’t that been tried before too, to no avail?

It was no different this time. Megatron _moaned_ and Sunstreaker could only feel the cold horror of trying to fight against a mech that only translated all of his struggling into _pleasure,_ one way or another. 

What was his spike even made of? Spikes were supposed to be sensitive, and it looked like Megatron derived pleasure from his, so it couldn’t be a lack of sensors. Was he just that much of a masochist on top of being a sadist?

He didn’t try to bite again, not when Megatron just forced him down despite the clench of his denta. It shouldn’t have been comfortable for him, to feel teeth scraping along his spike with that amount of pressure. 

Megatron didn’t give a damn.

He fragged his mouth _hard,_ and Sunstreaker wasn’t sure _anyone_ could survive the pace he set, ramming his spike down his throat until he couldn’t feel anything more than _pain,_ even when Megatron wasn’t bottomed out.

Was that his plan all along, or his _punishment_ for the bite?

Everything hurt. His neck had already hurt, now his throat did too, his valve—ache all over. It was only a marginal comfort that Megatron wasn’t outright _breaking his back_ or something, to _really_ complete the abuse.

This was enough.

And again Megatron took his slagging time with it until Sunstreaker felt he might just lose mind from the agony—and the knowledge he couldn’t escape any of this, at least not in the moment.

That all he could do was _endure_ to the best of his ability and wait for it to stop whenever _Megatron_ wanted it to stop. 

His wants, his pain, they were of no consequence.

He congratulated himself for the effort he made when Megatron pushed him down one more time, flush with his crotch, and then he came. _Finally._ The transfluid pulsing deep into his intake was almost a relief, but only because it held the _chance_ that Megatron had had enough.

He was crying in earnest, but Sunstreaker couldn’t find it in himself to care about _that_ when he had bigger concerns. Like the fact Megatron still held him down, there, with his spike as deep down his fucking throat as it would go, even after the transfluid stopped coming.

Wouldn’t let go, wouldn’t let him get up, wouldn’t let it _end._

At least he wasn’t moving. That was a small ass comfort, but a comfort nevertheless. He couldn’t ignore the stretch, though, couldn’t ignore how it hurt and continued to hurt, how he couldn’t find, _wasn’t allowed to find_ any alleviation from _that._

Throats weren’t designed for this. His valve at least stood a chance.

His mouth never did.

But Megatron just kept him there for what felt like another eternity, until his spike started to depressurize on its own. Slowly but steadily it slipped from Sunstreaker’s intake and returned to its housing, and he thanked no one and nothing in particular for _every_ inch it retreated.

Megatron kept a hold of him, kept him down through the whole process, and only once there was no spike left to reach Sunstreaker’s mouth even with his face flush against Megatron’s array… _Then_ Megatron let go of him. Sunstreaker spent a stunned second where he was before he _bolted_ away, moving out of Megatron’s reach faster than he thought he could.

Megatron made no move to grab him again, though. He barely paid any mind to Sunstreaker, in fact, and was instead using a cloth to clean himself of the worst of the mess their fragging had left on him. Sunstreaker watched the process silently, only panting from the pain all over him, and _now_ he was able to bring a servo to his throat. 

It didn’t matter how carefully he rubbed, it still shot red hot pain through his frame, but he froze his expression to keep his grimace from appearing. Megatron wouldn’t get that much out of him.

If the tyrant would’ve even bothered to look. Once he was satisfied with the state of his frame he merely got off the berth, rolling his shoulders once he was standing. “I have work to do,” he said, with barely a glance at Sunstreaker. A clean cloth was tossed onto the berth. “Make yourself comfortable.”

Sunstreaker glared at him, but Megatron ignored that and just… Left. The berthroom door closed behind him, and probably locked too, and there he was. Doing just what he’d done with Sideswipe—leaving him alone in his quarters with very little to do.

Only difference was that he had forced Sunstreaker, physically and wholly, where he’d expected Sideswipe to cooperate on his own.

Why the change? Wouldn’t he have wanted the same from Sunstreaker? Because this, this was nothing that hadn’t happened already, short of being left alone afterwards. Megatron had forcefully raped him several times already.

He could handle it.

Sunstreaker cycled several, deep, deliberate ventilations, trying to bring his emotions back under control. Yeah, it had been horrible. Yeah, he hurt now, and yeah, he was physically damaged. Not badly, but still.

But he’d survived it well enough. It hadn’t _really_ tested his limits, as much as he’d hated the oral in particular.

His throat throbbed with pain just from that one errant thought. Best to… Best to not focus on all the hurts.

He’d be fine. If this was any indication of how all of this was going to go, he’d be just fine.

Sunstreaker crawled over to the cloth Megatron had left for him, and after eyeing it distrustfully he nevertheless began to clean himself. His face first, the mess of tears and oral lubricant there, and then his crotch and aft.

He would have _loved_ to close his valve cover to keep the mess in it from leaking out, but _as it happened_ he was missing that panel entirely. Sunstreaker snarled to himself but pressed the cloth against the sore lips of his valve to dab away even some of the transfluid slowly draining from him. _Uncomfortable,_ to say the least.

But at least it wasn’t painful. 

Then… Then he was mostly clean. As clean as he could make himself with just a cloth, anyway.

What next? Just wait there all pretty like for when Megatron felt like returning and most likely fragging him again?

_Why didn’t he feel like doing that?_

Do what Sideswipe had done, then, and hide under the berth where he couldn’t be reached? It would likely mean he would get no fuel, but… That would only lead to stasis. Not the worst thing ever, right? At least he wouldn’t get raped again. 

It would be pretty embarrassing to just hide away like that, completely free of any dignity, but pits, if it would make Megatron’s life harder, who the frag cared about their own dignity?

Decision made, Sunstreaker slipped off the berth and crawled under it instead, like _who knew how many_ had done before him. He tucked his limbs close to himself, and after that there wasn’t anything to do but _wait._

Megatron would return eventually. Sunstreaker wondered what his reaction would be.

* * *

As it turned out, Megatron’s reaction really wasn’t much. When the tyrant entered that evening and didn’t see him right away, the first place he looked was under his berth. Sunstreaker met his optics with a glare, but Megatron did no more than _nod_ at him. 

What the pit was with _that?_

Megatron left him there, without a word or any attempt whatsoever to force or coax him out. What was he getting at? Because Megatron had to have a goal; it was like nothing he did was random. Everything had a purpose—a purpose towards _breaking_ his current target.

He wasn’t doing a very good job of it this time around. Maybe he wasn’t as _infallible_ as he liked to think—maybe he didn’t know how to get what he wanted out of _Sunstreaker._

That suited him just fine.

* * *

As he’d expected, he was offered no fuel. Not even the chance to fuel. Megatron didn’t try to tempt him out at any point, not even as the orns ticked on and his fuel levels hit critical levels.

That was when Sideswipe had caved and taken the fuel offered to him. Sunstreaker wondered what would have happened if he’d crawled out from under the berth now, and asked for fuel before his frame went into stasis. He would have expected Megatron to use the same tactic, anyway, of letting him starve to the point where he was desperate for fuel, then bring some in his view and offer it in return for whatever it was he might want from him.

But no. Megatron didn’t even look under the berth after that first time. Just… Left him there. Like he didn’t care about his presence at all. Megatron went about his business around him, working at his desk, recharging.

No acknowledgment Sunstreaker was even _there._

It wouldn’t have changed anything even if he had paid him some mind, though. Sideswipe might have caved, but Megatron had called Sideswipe _easy,_ maybe because he’d done that.

Sunstreaker was sworn to not do the same. Whatever would happen when he chose stasis… Then that would happen. _He_ wouldn’t bend the knee to hunger if it meant Megatron would find him a harder victim to handle than what he’d found his brother. 

He made good on his word to himself. One by one his frame began to shut down non-essential systems as his fuel levels dropped below acceptable levels.

His sensors were some of the last things to go, his vision blinking out mere minutes before his frame forced complete shutdown–

And everything stopped mattering.

* * *

Things came back online in reverse order. His sensors swept out first, giving him a view of the situation he was going to online to before other systems even caught up, conscious thought slow to boot up.

Someone had fueled him. Not very much—he was barely above functional levels—but it was enough for his frame to bring him back up.

Megatron was present. Sitting next to him, in fact. On a berth— _the_ berth, most likely. Sunstreaker became aware of that much before anything else, because that was _danger._ He waited painful seconds for his frame to grant him enough physical control that he could move away.

His optics shot open, at once glancing to his side. Megatron was looking at him, his expression unreadable, but that was all the time it took for Sunstreaker’s engines to roar into gear and he tried to jerk away from the larger mech.

 _Tried,_ because Megatron caught him by his arm before he got out of reach, and pulled his still reeling frame right back to his side. 

Sunstreaker’s vents were heaving, and not from exertion or heat. He felt more anger than fear, which was a good realization to come to—but the next detail he became aware of wasn’t as pleasant.

There were dried fluids on his frame. No, some were dried, others were more fresh. And his valve… It was _wet,_ and something was leaking out.

He checked his chronometer. He should have been out long enough that the results of their last bout shouldn’t be leaking anywhere anymore.

Which meant that their last bout was only the _last one he had been aware of._ Megatron had fragged him while he was out of it, too. Or hell, maybe he’d called company to help him with the task. _He wouldn’t know._

“What the slag did you _do?”_ Sunstreaker tried to growl, but it came out more as a breathless whisper. His vocalizer didn’t feel right. Neither did his throat, for that matter. His jaw ached and he could taste transfluid at the back of his mouth.

Had Megatron used his _intake_ too while he was out? All of his frame?

While it was slack and defenseless, _dead_ for all intents and purposes, aside from the presence of a spark signature?

And Megatron had fragged what nearly constituted as a _corpse._ No, it was worse than that. A corpse wouldn’t give a fuck if it was used like that. It’d just get recycled for parts anyway.

But _he,_ a mech in stasis, would _come back to himself_ eventually, once the reason for the stasis was removed. 

Come back to himself to find that his frame had been used without his permission when he couldn’t even _try_ to do or say anything about it. 

Sunstreaker stared at the ceiling and tried not to let those thoughts get to him as badly as they were threatening to.

He didn’t think he was very successful in that. 

“I think that’s obvious,” Megatron responded to him. This time Sunstreaker managed a snarl, sitting up and tugging against the hold on his arm. For naught, of course.

When would he ever do anything against Megatron and have it _not_ be for naught?

“You raped me while I was in _stasis!”_ He was finding his volume, and his motor functions. Sunstreaker stopped fighting against the grip on him to _lunge_ at the larger mech instead—for what, he wasn’t even sure, but it hardly mattered. Megatron caught him by the throat before he ever reached the tyrant, and then just… Held him. Not tight enough to damage him, not so high it would have strained his neck any further.

There was just the agony of already damaged parts being put through something too similar to what had damaged them in the first place. 

Desperation was threatening to take over, that sense of _there’s nothing I can do_ that he wanted to _deny_ with all his might. Was there anything Megatron wouldn’t do? To him, to others? Rape them while they were cognizant of it, either forcefully or through coercion… And then, if they tried to escape it all, he’d just fuck them while they were _out of it._

Because, “I don’t need you _aware,”_ Megatron said, and his voice was cold when he said—cold in a way Sunstreaker hadn’t heard before.

It sent a shiver down his spine. “You belong to _me,_ and that is all you need to concern yourself with.”

There. He said it. He thought he had the rights to do this, because they were _his—frame, spark, and mind,_ right?

 _“Slag you,”_ Sunstreaker growled, but there wasn’t much strength behind it. Where could he gather strength from in a situation like this? When no part of him was off limits, conscious or not?

When nothing was _his?_

When he had no rights to _himself?_

His engine stuttered, but Sunstreaker didn’t let go of his glare, or his anger.

“Kiss me.”

...And his engine stalled entirely.

_“What?”_

“Kiss me,” Megatron repeated, staring at him with that… _Expression_ that Sunstreaker couldn’t name for the life of him.

“No!” he said, trying to shake his helm despite the servo wrapped around his throat. _“Pit_ no.” Why did Megatron _ever_ think he would do that?

He didn’t have to wait for an answer to that for long. “Do you want more fuel?” Megatron asked, the image of ‘it’s all the same to me’. No doubt it was. What did he care if Sunstreaker was or wasn’t in stasis? Clearly that didn’t put a stop to what he would do with his frame. 

Was this it? The thing _he_ would need to do to get fueled, just like Sideswipe had been ordered to do something to _earn_ his fuel?

Sunstreaker snarled, disbelief morphing back into anger. He did want more fuel. He didn’t want to end up in stasis again for Megatron to do Primus knew _what_ to his frame. 

_“Go kill yourself,”_ he growled insted, jerking against Megatron’s hold. It didn’t budge, predictably. 

He wanted fuel, he needed fuel, but he wouldn’t do _that_ to get it. 

“You will lose that attitude eventually,” Megatron said without offense, and evenly, just like he would’ve stated any fact. Like it was a _fact,_ just a matter of time until Sunstreaker caved—not an _if,_ only a _when._

He wouldn’t let it be that. He’d find another way.

_He didn’t know how._

There had to be a way.

But that turned out to be a concern for future him. In the present Megatron turned to press him into the berth, still by his throat. His other servo caught his hip once more, and without preamble he had released his spike and sunk into Sunstreaker’s bared valve.

It didn’t hurt as much as it should have. He _wanted_ it to hurt, to remember this was against his will—to know his frame was still in the state it should be. As _tight_ as it should be.

_His._

But what Megatron had done... How many times he’d done it, his frame couldn’t take it. His calipers didn’t complain as much anymore, and there was enough transfluid to make the slide of Megatron’s spike considerably smoother. 

If his frame had recovered during the time Megatron had held Sideswipe and left Sunstreaker alone… All of that was being undone with every harsh stroke of Megatron’s spike that should have hurt far worse than it did. The little tendrils of pleasure that curled in his valve made him want to claw the whole damn thing out for threatening to turn his frame against himself.

As if that hadn’t already been done before.

He didn’t know if Megatron noticed he was fighting back arousal, and he didn’t know if Megatron cared even if he noticed, but the tyrant was rather quick with this round. Oh, he took all the time that suited him, but it wasn’t _as_ long as Sunstreaker already knew it could be. 

Then he came, on Sunstreaker’s stomach this time, earning him a vicious growl.

Vicious, useless growl that the tyrant completely ignored. Megatron wiped his spike clean, and without another word, he left. Again.

Leaving Sunstreaker alone. Again.

Except this time he didn’t get a cloth to clean himself with.

The silence Megatron left behind was deafening, interrupted only by the sounds of Sunstreaker’s own frame. It left far too much room for his thoughts to be painfully loud.

The _now what_ was the loudest. Sunstreaker cautiously pushed himself to sitting and… Left himself there. Transfluid was seeping from his valve all over again and the feel of even more of it drying on his plating, right along with everything that had _already_ dried on it… Ugh, he was going to go fucking nuts.

And he didn’t know what now.

How could he win? Aware or in stasis, he’d still get raped, and Megatron had shown that with _him,_ he didn’t care one whit about his cooperation. It was different from Sideswipe’s treatment.

Except… The demand for a fragging _kiss._ If that hadn’t come from the left field, Sunstreaker didn’t know what had. Megatron wanted him to kiss him, out of his own volition… To earn fuel.

What would happen if he refused? He had a pretty good idea.

Most likely Megatron would just let him go back in stasis and rape his unconscoius frame all over again–

The thought made him shudder. Why was it so much _worse?_ It should’ve been preferable; he couldn’t suffer during it if he wasn’t even awake.

But it wasn’t preferable. It fragging _wasn’t._ He would have no idea what Megatron did to his body, could only guess when— _if_ —he was brought out of stasis again. He didn’t exactly want to ask Megatron about the details, even if that would’ve been _knowledge._

Maybe he was better off not knowing. 

It was bad enough that he could surmise Megatron had already made use of every hole he had. What did it even feel like to frag a frame that gave no feedback in return?

He wanted to purge. _Stop thinking about it—_ he couldn’t afford to lose any of the fuel in him. 

But the thought was fragging disgusting, knowing his frame would have been nothing but a lax _doll,_ only moving because Megatron was moving it—slack limbs that could be moved every which way with no resistance.

Sunstreaker buried his face into his servos, and he didn’t even care that he was transferring the mess on his faceplates onto his palms. What did it matter, at this point? 

What could he do? How could he keep all of this from happening?

Was there _anything?_

One thing was for sure: he was _not_ going to kiss Megatron, even if it meant… Even if it meant going back into stasis.

...Was that really preferable? Knowing Megatron would most likely just use him again?

But how, _how_ would he be able to kiss him? The reason they were torn from their home, their life, their rapist, their tormentor… That mech wanted Sunstreaker to _kiss_ him.

After everything he’d done to them.

He was caught between a rock and a hard place. He had no good options, only bad and worse—and he wasn’t sure which one was the _worse._

This was exactly like how Sideswipe had felt, wasn’t it? Cornered, with a very limited array of things to choose from—so few ways _out._

But the thought of kissing him… That was even more unbearable. He couldn’t do it.

Sunstreaker dropped off the edge of the berth and crouched on the floor to return to his place under the berth, for all the good that had done him last time.

Stasis it was.

* * *

He woke up again, this time in Megatron’s fucking _lap_ with the tyrant’s spike nudging against his lower back. “Awake?” his rapist asked, and when Sunstreaker glared in response he was promptly lifted enough for Megatron to nudge his fragging spike to the entrance of his valve–

And lower him down onto it.

It didn’t hurt. Fraggit, but _it didn’t hurt._ What had Megatron done to his frame this time? Even when he tilted them forward until Sunstreaker had to catch himself with his arms, Megatron’s weight pressing on his back, and Megatron started to _move…_

It didn’t hurt.

Quite the opposite. 

Sunstreaker had to bite back a moan as his valve responded to Megatron’s thrusts with happy zaps of pleasure. The sensors were still raw, and there was just that little edge of discomfort, but it was drowned out by everything else, easily ignored—too easily, if you asked Sunstreaker. His vents blasted a round of warmed air as Megatron fragged him leisurely, like he was in no rush.

Like he wanted to take the time to _really_ make Sunstreaker feel this. 

And pits, but it was working. His frame was responding, heating, charge slowly but surely building as the pleasure mounted, building atop itself.

His valve started to lubricate, the pass of Megatron’s spike turned even smoother.

Even more pleasant.

Sunstreaker squeezed his optics shut and tried to ignore his frame, the physical—the things he didn’t want to feel. He didn’t want to _enjoy_ Megatron’s abuse, even on a strictly physical level, and his mind raged against it.

It was no use. Megatron wrapped one of his arms around his middle again, trapping him in place, locking them together—and he kept moving his damned spike in and out, lighting his sensors up in all kinds of pleasant ways until Sunstreaker was panting, his valve rippling around the invading spike—and that hurt a little bit, the calipers still in the middle of numbing to the damage they’d suffered.

It didn’t hurt anywhere near enough to quell the rise of charge, though. Megatron rumbled against his back and the vibrations from his engine did even more _things_ to him. Sunstreaker ground his denta together as his valve spasmed again. Megatron’s engine revved this time too and he began to pick up his pace.

Sunstreaker couldn’t hold back his moan as Megatron began to _slam_ into him. Even the edge of pain from that registered as _pleasure,_ and his valve tightened further, his frame on an indomitable march towards _completion._ Megatron bore down on him harder, forced his front half flat on the berth, kept his aft up—kept _fucking_ him until Sunstreaker could barely think past the ecstasy in his lines. Hard, fast thrusts rocked his frame–

Until he crested. He cut off his vocalizer before it could make a sound as charge crackled along his plating and his valve clamped down on Megatron’s spike—as every cable and piston in his body tightened from the strength of his release.

And Megatron… Megatron growled against his back, thrust two more times, then came inside him, likely coaxed over the edge by Sunstreaker’s own frame.

Sunstreaker was next to strutless when the charge in his systems finished dissipating, his vents heaving with very little effect when Megatron’s hot frame covered his smaller one so thoroughly. He was shivering just so, hatred in his spark—so much _hatred._

But he couldn’t unleash it on the mech that was its target. He had tried already, several times. It was no good. It’d earn him nothing.

Should he keep trying anyway?

...He could think about that again once he had a bit more strength in his limbs. 

Megatron pulled out when he felt like it, moved away when he felt like it—but not so far he couldn’t have caught Sunstreaker if he’d tried to go somewhere.

He didn’t try. Where could he go, anyway? Under the berth again? Into the cold and the dark of it?

Megatron would only let him fall into stasis again, and this would repeat all over again.

Maybe he’d do it anyway, once it looked like Megatron wasn’t prepared to grab him at a moment’s notice.

It didn’t matter that he didn’t try to go anywhere, though, Megatron still took a hold of him, pulling him across the berth’s surface to him. Sunstreaker tried to pull away just once, but the servos on his hips tightened in clear indication that Megatron _wasn’t_ about to let that happen.

Instead he could only wait tensely for whatever Megatron had in store for him this time. Another round right after? Megatron sure had the stamina for it.

But no. Megatron grabbed his aft, smoothed his servos across it, then stuck his thumbs into his valve and spread the lips wide—wide enough that Sunstreaker could _feel_ it. 

But his valve gave without too much resistance, stretching under Megatron’s test.

“Get up off the berth,” Megatron said suddenly, removing his servos, _completely,_ until there was nothing that prevented Sunstreaker from moving away.

And move away he did, quickly scooting out of reach, glaring at the tyrant with abject distrust. “Why?”

“I want to see you walk,” Megatron answered his question easily, sounding honest.

Was that really _it?_

Unless…

Sunstreaker got a sinking feeling in his tanks and swallowed hard, but there was only one way to find out if that was the case, wasn’t there? So, more for the sake of his own anxious curiosity than anything else, Sunstreaker went to the berth’s edge and dropped down, his legs a bit unsteady… But after a moment’s uncertainty, they did carry his weight. Maybe a bit shakily, but did so anyway. 

“Walk to the wall and back,” Megatron instructed him. Sunstreaker glared at him again, but he wanted to try this out.

So he walked.

And there it was. The _sway._

Megatron’s engine revved with pleasure and arousal even as Sunstreaker’s stuttered. His step faltered, and all of a sudden, he very much did not want to walk. Now or ever.

It was a stupid, unreasonable reaction, but he didn’t want to feel the way his hips moved now. What had Knock Out said? _Hips spread apart_ by Megatron’s fragging _spike?_

It wasn’t just on the inside anymore. It wasn’t just when Megatron invaded his frame that he could feel how it was changing, violently reshaped to _accommodate_ the tyrant’s spike in all ways.

Now it was on the outside too, there for all the world to see.

If the world ever saw him. If he wasn’t locked up in this fragging _palace._

He didn’t take another step. Couldn’t take another step. His servos balled into fists on his sides, his helm hung.

Anger. He could barely feel anything else anymore.

...Anger and despair. 

_Helplessness._

“Now now, don’t be like that,” Megatron spoke up. Sunstreaker could hear him get up, then feel the tremors of his steps as he came closer. “This is a _good_ thing.”

_No it wasn’t!_

Megatron’s servo landed on his shoulder, _gentle._ Sunstreaker growled and tried to shrug it away, but it only tightened until there was no longer anything soft about it.

 _‘Kindness’,_ as long as he _obeyed._

Force, if he didn’t.

He knew which one he’d rather have.

Megatron crouched in front of him, grabbing his chin with his other servo and tilting his helm until he was forced to meet the tyrant’s gaze. Cool, with not a trace of genuine _care_ in it.

Megatron only cared about how he could get what he wanted. Everything he did was a part of that, each action carefully calculated. This, too. 

_“Go to the fucking smelters,”_ Sunstreaker whispered, his engine growling, his field alive with his anger, but Megatron’s again, completely overpowered it. Swept it aside, like it was nothing.

Like what Sunstreaker felt was nothing.

Because it was. It was _nothing._

He tried to swat the servo on his chin away, but Megatron’s grip only tightened until that was _not_ going to happen. Megatron stared at him for a moment, silent. Sunstreaker wasn’t sure what he saw, or what he was looking for, but the tension in him built with every second Megatron spent not hurting him.

“Kiss me,” he then said, again. 

And Sunstreaker said, _“No,”_ again. 

Megatron took that for an answer, released him, got up—went to his berth, laid down.

Powered down to recharge.

And Sunstreaker was left without fuel, the warning about his empty tanks blinking away on his HUD.

* * *

He fell victim to low fuel levels, like he had two times already.

Like those times, he came back around to Megatron’s proximity, except this time… Was even worse than the last times.

He was on his back, staring up at the ceiling. Megatron was between his legs, looking down at him–

And his spike was buried deep in his valve.

Sunstreaker couldn’t muster the strength to try to move away, doubtful as it was that would have worked anyway. There was more transfluid on his frame… His throat felt raw.

It wasn’t hard to see Megatron had taken his pleasure out of him again, before he’d deigned to refuel him. Again his fuel levels were just _barely_ above functioning levels. He would run out of the meager reserves soon, and then this would _repeat…_

For how long? 

How much longer would Megatron keep him? He was already losing a lot of time due to the straight up _orns_ he’d spent in stasis, as Megatron’s personal little sex doll. Megatron wasn’t losing anything here. No matter how many times Sunstreaker denied him… He would take his enjoyment, one way or another. 

As he did now too. Megatron brushed his cheek and Sunstreaker flinched, but that was all there was before Megatron began to rock in and out of his body, like he had for who knew how many times already.

His servos continued to travel along his frame, claws lightly tracing the seams of his armor, toying around in the splatters of transfluid left on him…

He didn’t want to enjoy it. He didn’t, but between the touches and his valve, his charge was rising. Again. Unwanted, unneeded, but the arousal came whether he liked it or not. His core temperature rose, he began to vent more heavily.

Megatron flipped him over and pulled his hips to his, one servo keeping a hold of him there, keeping him in place… And the other continued to stroke along his body, finding a special place in the brand on his shoulder. Sunstreaker could feel him tracing the shape burned on him, the one he wanted to forget all about—he didn’t want to see it, didn’t want to be reminded of it or of the reason for it, but it was _everywhere_ in the harem wing. Everyone short of Knock Out had it—a mark of their standing, he supposed.

Of their _place._ Their lot in life.

 _This._ This was what they were here for. Megatron’s spike filled his valve with every stroke inward, vacated it partway when he pulled back… And Sunstreaker took it, because he was given no other options. Megatron held him there until Sunstreaker was tensing from the overload that overtook him—that Megatron just thrust through, lengthening it where Sunstreaker didn’t want it to _exist_ in the first place.

Only once he was lax from it did Megatron pull out and overload himself, his spill landing on Sunstreaker’s back to join the mess already covering him. 

Learn to spread their legs for him. That was what Megatron had said he’d teach them do.

He was one hell of a teacher.

Megatron let him have a moment, sitting to the side, and… Bringing out a cube. It glowed brightly, a telltale sign of high charge.

The tyrant didn’t even glance his way as he began to drink from it, slowly, drawing out the process.

Forcing Sunstreaker to watch, hunger echoing in his empty tanks.

He knew what he had to do to get some of that for himself, didn’t he?

 _Kiss_ Megatron.

Swallow his pride and kiss his rapist. 

Who the fuck _did_ that?

Pits, he didn’t want to even entertain the idea. “What do I need to do to get fuel?” Sunstreaker asked, a little more quietly than he would have liked.

He didn’t push himself up, not even when Megatron’s optics moved to him.

“You already know,” came the answer.

He did. He just… 

Sunstreaker closed his optics. “Is there any other way?”

The answer to that was just as he expected, too. “No.”

At least he tried.

Sunstreaker turned his helm and buried his face against the berth. What could he do? He didn’t want to go into stasis again, knowing Megatron would only abuse his frame more. He would be _completely_ at his mercy—as if he wasn’t already—with no chance whatsoever to try to change the course of things.

Nothing he could do to defend himself.

It was stupid. He couldn’t do those things even when he was awake and aware.

But it still _felt_ different.

His engine hitched and he could feel Megatron moving. He’d never bothered to close his legs, and the tyrant situated himself between them again, hiking his hips up before driving his spike home. Sunstreaker grunted as tired sensors fired up, flaring pleasure from his defiled valve. Misshapen to fit Megatron’s spike _perfectly._

Again Megatron ran his servos along his back, their motion almost soothing—like he was trying to ease away all of the negative emotions overtaking Sunstreaker. Still anger, but not as much of it as he would have liked. Despair. That was the dominant one right now.

Despair over how powerless he was.

Despair over how few options he had.

Despair over Megatron’s _inevitability._

‘Resistance is futile.’ Hadn’t Starscream said that?

Had he learned it through personal experience? Had he had a will of his own once too, before all of this? Was he something _more_ than the apparent head of Megatron’s harem, once upon a time?

He didn’t want to become that, a subservient little _thing_ that did as Megatron told without hesitation. 

But… What could he do in the moment, except be just that? He wanted out of here sooner rather than later. He needed to fuel.

_He didn’t want to end up in stasis again._

His engine hitched once, then after a little pause, it did it again. Sunstreaker brought his servos to his face as Megatron continued to move in and out of his body, continued to touch him, continued to _exist…_

Continued to be everything he didn’t want, but all he had. 

“Easy now,” Megatron murmured to him as if he was a cornered, frightened animal. And maybe he was, in some ways. Cornered at the very least.

A little frightened too, but not of physical retribution. He couldn’t give a damn about that.

But Megatron’s games were a different matter. The tyrant was so frightfully _proficient_ at what he did. He knew just when to push, just when to pull, where to apply pressure, _how_ to apply it. 

How was he supposed to survive that?

“Come here,” Megatron continued with, his voice soft in a way that just didn’t suit him. Gently he pulled Sunstreaker upright, back against his chassis—against the heat of him… His spike nudging even deeper into his valve as he sat on the tyrant’s lap.

The last place he wanted to be.

The only place he was allowed to be.

“Turn around for me.”

Sunstreaker’s spark began to spin wildly in his chest, fearing it knew where this was going—and fearing he would just go along with it out of sheer desperation. 

Megatron directed him with firm but patient touches, briefly pushing him off his spike so he’d have the room to turn around–

Then grabbing him by the hips, pulling him close, and impaling him all over again.

He shouldn’t enjoy the feeling of being stuffed full of the tyrant’s spike, but a part of him preferred that to the aching emptiness of _not_ having it. 

He had to fight to lift his helm and stare up at Megatron, trying his best to _glare,_ to have fire in his optics… And yet knowing there wasn’t as much of it as there had been.

All he needed to do was recover it, though. All he needed to do was get out of here and have a chance to recover.

But pits, the things he’d have to do to get away…

“Do you want to fuel?” Megatron asked from him, and there was something in his field that put Sunstreaker on edge. Well, more so than what he already was.

Which really wasn’t as much as there _should_ be. 

“You know I do,” he snarled in answer, but even knowing what he’d need to do… He couldn’t bring himself to initiate anything. If Megatron would have even allowed that, and not taken offense with the presumptiveness of doing anything without his explicit go ahead. 

It was for the best he didn’t try, considering what Megatron did next. He took another mouthful from the cube he’d set aside, but… Didn’t swallow.

And Sunstreaker knew _exactly_ what he was expected to do.

He didn’t keen, no matter how he wanted to.

Defeat. Wasn’t that what this was? Another battle lost, more land given. 

_What else could he do?_

Stasis was the worse option, and the one that wouldn’t get him any closer to freedom.

He was shuddering, disgust, so heavy—barely moved through his lines by his fuel pump. 

Or so it felt like.

Not one part of him wanted to do this, but after cycling far too many ventilations, testing Megatron’s patience for far too long… Sunstreaker reached up, shivering at the drag of Megatron’s spike in his valve as he rose further up on his knees.

Megatron leaned down to meet him, but left the final inches up to Sunstreaker. 

It hurt. It fucking hurt to force his frame up that final stretch—to press his lips against Megatron’s.

Against the mech’s that had claimed his life to a fate he wasn’t sure was any preferable to _death._

But he did it. Megatron’s arm wrapped around his lower back and pulled him a little further up, until the reach was far too easy—far too easy to mold his lips to Megatron’s.

True to his word, Megatron allowed him to have the fuel—passing it from one oral cavity to another, with barely a drop slipping by. Sunstreaker swallowed, his frame thanking him–

His spark, _hating_ him.

It was fuel, but only one mouthful. Megatron allowed him to pull away afterwards and Sunstreaker wiped the back of his servo across his mouth.

His servo was shaking.

“Would you like more?” Megatron asked. Sunstreaker glanced up to see him holding the cube in one servo, his look meaningful as he took another mouthful.

Same thing. Again. If he wanted the fuel he needed so badly.

Sunstreaker felt something inside him fracture.

* * *

“You can go once you recharge next to me,” Megatron told him that night. Sunstreaker’s spark surged with the promise of freedom, of getting the frag out of here…

Of getting back to Sideswipe. 

How was Sideswipe even doing? First he’d had to survive in Megatron’s personalized attention, then before Sunstreaker had even had a chance to piece him together… Sideswipe had lost him. 

It didn’t sit well with him. Sideswipe had been hurting so badly… 

And compared to everything else that had already happened, what was sleeping next to the tyrant? He could be stubborn for the sake of being stubborn, but where would that get him?

Nowhere. Here and now it would get him nowhere. 

So Sunstreaker climbed onto the berth after Megatron and allowed the larger mech to pull him close.

Just laid there when Megatron slipped his spike into his valve and drove the both of them towards an overload, fast.

Just let his helm be turned until Megatron’s lips landed on his again, his glossa forcing entry, thrusting—just like his hips.

As always, overload hit him before Megatron. Sunstreaker groaned into the kiss as his valve rippled, his frame shuddered. Pleasure. Pleasure he didn’t want but could do nothing about.

Megatron followed him shortly after, his overload spilling into his valve, and Sunstreaker was grateful— _how could he be grateful for anything?_ —that it wasn’t aimed on the outside of his frame, this time. 

“Lick it clean,” Megatron ordered him after.

He didn’t, not before Megatron caught him by a helm fin and forced him down, his face next to the spike.

He got two options. “Lick it clean or I’ll use your throat for it.”

Which was worse? That wasn’t a hard decision.

Sunstreaker closed his optics, fought back the tears—but extended his glossa and began to wipe away the mess of transfluid and lubricant _with it._

Megatron rumbled in approval. Megatron didn’t rush him. Megatron let him go about it as he saw fit.

Megatron wouldn’t let him stop before he was satisfied with the _cleanliness_ of his spike. 

He didn’t recharge that night any more than he recharged any night previously. The only difference was that instead of spending it on the floor, under the berth… He spent it under the heavy arm of one dictator. Megatron slept peacefully, although Sunstreaker didn’t fool himself into thinking he wasn’t ready for _any_ threat, coming from Sunstreaker or otherwise. 

Not that Sunstreaker could have made himself much of a threat anyway. 

He could feel a mix of transfluid and lubricant weeping out his valve for quite a while, before things dried up.

Megatron took notice of that in the morning, eyeing the quite thoroughly soiled berthtop. “You, my dear, need a _wash,”_ he commented, running his claw through some of the stains of transfluid left on Sunstreaker’s plating. 

Sunstreaker couldn’t really disagree with that. He followed the tyrant from the berthroom, through the lounge, into the hallway and into the washracks that Sideswipe had already visited.

Like with Sideswipe, Megatron had him help him wash first, not that there was terribly much to wash. Unlike him, Megatron had taken showers in between their... Sessions. He was clean and gleaming soon enough. 

Then Sunstreaker was allowed to wash himself. Quickly. And he did, wanting to get the worst of it away before Megatron decided he’d ran out of time.

He was pleasantly successful in that and there was really nothing but a thorough polishing that he needed after he was through with himself. That… That he could likely do later.

In the harem wing.

“Do I get to return to the harem now?” he asked as he was drying himself under Megatron’s gaze. That one word burned on his vocalizer, but he didn’t know how to get under or over it.

It was a harem.

“Yes,” was all Megatron said, and there was… Approval in his optics as he watched him.

Sunstreaker didn’t want that. He didn’t want the bastard’s _approval—_ not for his looks, not for his actions.

But recently, he’d earned it through _both,_ hadn’t he? 

He ached.

Megatron himself led him from the tyrant’s wing of the palace and Sunstreaker got to see just how the guards at the doors to the harem wing reacted to his presence. They bowed as they opened the doors for him—them. Megatron pushed him in ahead of himself, but instead of just leaving it there… He followed him in.

Sideswipe descended upon him at once. His brother was crying, hard, and Sunstreaker could feel it—the relief, in both of them.

It was with delay that Sideswipe took notice of Megatron’s presence. The tyrant was watching them, his red optics glowing bright in the dim of the hallway, and Sideswipe shied away from his gaze, practically hiding behind Sunstreaker.

So he hadn’t particularly recovered in the time Sunstreaker had been absent.

That didn’t surprise him very much. 

Sunstreaker fought to keep it together, for Sideswipe’s sake, even as Megatron’s servo landed on his back again, _pressing,_ pushing him further into the wing. It didn’t leave either, but remained as a constant touch as Megatron guided him, and Sideswipe by extension, through the hallway and into the harem’s berthroom.

The mates present looked up as they entered, backs straightening at the sight of Megatron.

_Engines revving._

Megatron paid none of them any mind, looking instead at Sunstreaker. Sunstreaker refused to cower under his optics despite the _intent_ in them. He didn’t know what it was for, but Megatron didn’t waste much time in showing him, because the tyrant leaned down, hooked a claw under his chin—tilting his helm up and forcing their lips together.

Sideswipe’s engine stalled next to him and he could feel Sideswipe all but drop to the floor from surprise and horror.

Horror that Megatron was even doing something like that, and horror that Sunstreaker would just _let_ him. 

_What happened?_

It didn’t end there. If only it had, but Megatron reached down with his other servo, slipped it between his legs… Pushed two of his digits up into his valve.

There, at the sight of absolutely everyone. 

He pumped them a few times, deliberately brushing against sensors until Sunstreaker’s frame was heating despite himself and he squirmed just so, trying to dislodge the digits. Megatron ended their kiss, at the very least, but then he _yanked_ with the digits buried into his valve—abrupt sting on the sensors in the area. A strangled groan escaped Sunstreaker. Sideswipe held onto his arm tighter.

“I did so enjoy our time together,” Megatron said at length, brushing a digit along his cheek and grabbing his jaw when Sunstreaker tried to turn his helm away. “Didn’t you?”

He wasn’t given a chance to answer. Megatron released him, removed his digits from his valve, and… Walked out. Sunstreaker could hear his steps retreat down the hallway, then the door open for him, and close after him.

Gone. His tormentor was finally gone.

But he’d left behind the burn of utter humiliation. If he’d even had a cover to close… But he didn’t. 

His helm hung. The other mates were trying hard to not look at them, pretend they hadn’t seen a thing.

Tears stung in his optics, and when Sideswipe _hugged_ him, he couldn’t hold them back. He buried his face against his brother’s shoulder, seeking shelter like he _never_ did. 

But now he did, and the tears fell one by one, slowly staining his face and Sideswipe’s armor.

 _“What did he do to you?”_ Sideswipe asked quietly but so fiercely, holding him tighter and bringing one servo up to stroke it along the back of his helmet. He could feel his twin’s anger… But also the knowledge he could do _nothing,_ except be there for him in the aftermath.

That would just have to be enough. For both of them.

They _had_ to get through this. 

Sunstreaker only shook his helm in answer. There were too many things, too many emotions—too many _concessions_ to put into any succinct words. Instead… “I need to see Knock Out,” he said, hating the way his voice cracked.

Sideswipe didn’t acknowledge that, only the words spoken. Sunstreaker could feel him nodding before his brother carefully pulled away, grasping him by the arm—keeping that as their point of contact. “Yeah, sure. Let’s go see him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Straight up rape again  
> Valve, mouth  
> Some crying  
> Near-decapitation that kind of doubles as Cybertronian version of strangling  
> Coercion  
> Starvation  
> Stasis  
> Fuckinstance of the very unconscious body  
> Angst  
> Much angst  
> Unhappy kissing  
> Passing fuel through a kiss


	10. Endless War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End notes, as always.

Knock Out fixed him right back up, aside from the strain of his throat and valve… His hips. The parts Megatron didn’t _permit_ him to fix. But his valve was covered back up, the components damaged by Megatron’s grip on his neck, fully repaired. Sunstreaker was sent on his way with a “Good as new!” even though he _wasn’t._ He wasn’t good as new. Not emotionally, mentally—not even physically, because that much wasn’t _allowed_ to him.

He tried so hard to ignore the way his frame swayed with every step he took.

“Wanna sync up?” Sideswipe asked quietly once they were in the hallway again. Normally they’d have done that during the night, and right now it was the middle of the morning… But Sideswipe was dying to find out what had happened.

Dying to _share_ it so Sunstreaker didn’t have to bear the vivid memories all on his own. 

“Sure,” Sunstreaker agreed. As much as he didn’t want to burden Sideswipe with the physical memories on top of the impressions their spark passed… That was a part of _them,_ to always have all the memories the other did. He couldn’t pick and choose what he’d like to share and what to keep to himself. _It didn’t work like that._

And besides, Sideswipe would’ve never let him get away with trying to keep things to himself. Especially now, with… Fragging _everything_ going on. It was paramount they _understood_ and knew. All the better for them to help each other.

Sunstreaker would have turned to the library as they walked down the hall, but Sideswipe tugged on his arm to continue on. “Can we go to the berthroom?” came Sideswipe’s question. Sunstreaker’s surprise bloomed in their spark, but when he looked at his brother, Sideswipe wouldn’t meet his optics.

But there were memories, images, impressions—and Sideswipe voiced those after a short delay. “I-I didn’t want to recharge alone with you gone, so I… I slept in the berthroom,” his brother said, shameful, as if he’d committed a crime. “Skywarp kept me company some nights,” Sideswipe continued, even more quietly.

Sunstreaker prodded, gently, but it wasn’t _that_ kind of company. Just recharging together, Sideswipe seeking the comfort of another frame in Sunstreaker’s absence, and Skywarp willing to provide it.

What was wrong with that? There was scarcely a night in their life that they _hadn’t_ spent together. It was easy to understand why Sideswipe wouldn’t handle the solitude of the library too well—why he’d rather go for the sounds of other frames, other fields around him… And one in particular proximity, if he could. Skywarp was kind to have given him that much.

Even if… Even if it meant being _there_ when some of the other mates got going. But that could be ignored if you were dedicated enough and focused your thoughts elsewhere with utmost stubbornness.

And besides, if it was night, they’d at least try to keep _quiet_ if they couldn’t keep it under covers. It was the days that were harder, when there wasn’t really a place where there wasn’t the danger of someone springing it out. 

Really only the library. Everyone seemed to respect the quiet of that.

But Sideswipe hadn’t spent all of his time in the library either. He was a social creature that enjoyed and _needed_ the company of others. He’d dulled himself to the other harem members’ _activities_ to the best of his ability, just so he could spend time in the entertainment room with Skywarp and some others that paid him particular attention.

They were all friendly towards him, just… Not very _understanding._

So that was what Sideswipe had done while he was gone—what he’d done to survive the orns Sunstreaker hadn’t been there. It wasn’t… It could be worse, really. Sideswipe wasn’t _okay_ by any stretch of the imagination, but he was keeping it together. 

Sunstreaker gave his servo a squeeze and offered a half-smile where he couldn’t muster a full one. “Sure. Let’s go to the berthroom.”

If Sideswipe could do it, Sunstreaker could do. And besides… Their cots were at the back of the room, out of the way. They could just turn their backs to everyone else and pretend it was just them.

That’s what they did, then. True to form, there was _debauchery_ going on in the entertainment room as they passed it, and the berthroom was little better, but… They ignored that. Didn’t look, pretended they didn’t hear, and just walked with brisk step to the other end of the room, to their cots—sat down facing the wall. Sideswipe opened a port on his arm, Sunstreaker plugged in, and their frames became connected, just as their spark was. 

Memories started to upload in both directions and Sunstreaker shifted through Sideswipe’s. There was little that stood out there, just hurt without anyone or anything to fix it—loneliness, no matter how he was surrounded by many others, only alleviated even a little bit by the actions of harem members who had given him kind words, Skywarp at the forefront.

But the words… They were confusing things. There to intend to make him better, there was no question about that, but… The way they talked, like this was _normal,_ something to be _wanted,_ that you only needed to get _used to_ it and then it would get _better–_

Veiled in goodwill, they made little sense when contrasted with what reality was—pain and abuse, humiliation and control. None of that had anything _good_ about it. 

Why did the others think it _wasn’t so bad?_ How could they sit there and talk about how it was going to get better? Even if they gave up— _which they weren’t going to do_ —what would it have achieved except resignation to the torture their life had become? How, _how_ would it suddenly morph into _liking_ it?

No, even the suggestion of that happening was madness.

But if Sideswipe had had a bit of a confusing time, his brother was far more interested in what had happened to Sunstreaker. Sideswipe clutched onto his arm tighter and tighter as the torment Sunstreaker had been put through was uploaded to him, their spark _aching_ over what he was forced to survive. And had he even survived it? Hadn’t he come back only to _cry_ in a rare moment of weakness? 

That was alright now though. They were together again, could bear this together—could build each other back up.

...For what? Would Megatron only tear them down again?

It didn’t matter. No matter how many times they’d have to piece themselves together… They would. Until they were out of this damn nightmare, they _would._

Sunstreaker felt… Numb to his own memories, paying half a mind to what was passed to Sideswipe. It had felt so bad in the moment, and he was sure it would start to feel bad again at some point, but for now… Nothing.

Sideswipe reacted, though. He buried his face against Sunstreaker’s shoulder as the memories just continued and continued—every little detail of what Megatron had done to him, laid bare for his brother to see and process–

And Sideswipe cried for him and for everything he had gone through. The use of his frame while awake and while completely unaware, _over_ and _over,_ this way and that—and all of it culminating in what he had finally caved to do in order to get fuel.

That was probably the worst part. Kissing was supposed to be something intimate, a show of affection, whether that was between lovers, friends, or family members. 

What Megatron had coerced him into… It had no affection in it; it was just a twisted cadaver of what it was supposed to be.

Nothing but a bid to violate every part of him. 

For everything Sideswipe had needed to do, he had been spared that. Why? Why him, but not Sideswipe? He was glad, he was so very glad Sideswipe hadn’t needed to do it, but he didn’t understand the reasoning. Was it only a matter of time before it would befall Sideswipe too? He hoped not, but he felt all too sure that that hope was in vain. 

The sharp clip of thrusters had them glancing up to see Starscream approach, Skywarp trailing after him. Starscream wasn’t _quite_ scowling, but it was a near thing. “Twins,” he acknowledged them. “I hope I didn’t interrupt anything. No? Good.”

...He sort of had, but okay.

Starscream continued on without any fanfare. “I need to know if you have any useful skills.”

Silence reigned supreme for a good moment before Sideswipe had the sense to wipe away some of his tears and ask, “Uh… What kinda skills count as useful here?”

“You know, singing, dancing, steady servos, anything else entertaining,” Skywarp replied, his wings shrugging.

Annnnd that was about where they started to catch on to what was ‘useful’ and _why_ it was useful. 

Sunstreaker scowled. Still on track with being goddamn _entertainment,_ weren’t they? There for others to enjoy, damn what they themselves wanted. _Wasn’t that it?_

Sideswipe echoed the sentiment, but after a frown of his own he did answer. “We can sing and dance pretty decent, I think,” he said a little carefully. “Never had issues with servos either. I can do card tricks, need dexterous hands for that.”

Oh, to the pits with it. “I paint,” Sunstreaker tacked on, barely keeping himself from growling. He was not about to start painting for anyone’s entertainment, not here, but slag, maybe putting it out there would get him… What? Some art supplies? He didn’t even have his sketchbook with him anymore.

He wondered if someone had found it from their alley. Maybe some of their friends, there to check up on them when they didn’t make an appearance for days—orns.

He’d never parted ways with his sketchbook.

Pits, he missed _home._

Starscream nodded at them. “I’ve made note of that. If either of you feels like picking up an instrument, there’s a wide variety of them in the entertainment room. _Don’t be shy.”_

As abrupt as ever, Starscream turned on his heel with that and marched off. Skywarp didn’t follow but instead smiled and waved at them.

Or at him, rather. “Good to have you back, Sunstreaker! Sideswipe was so inconsolable without you.”

Sunstreaker frowned, but… Skywarp had tried to help Sideswipe while he was gone. 

So he grunted something along the lines of, “Yeah.” He had _not_ forgotten the part Skywarp had played in the orgy, and neither had Sideswipe for that matter.

But beggars couldn’t be choosers, and Sideswipe had become a real beggar for even a modicum of comfort without Sunstreaker there. Skywarp was better than nothing.

And it was clear Sideswipe was more comfortable with the Seeker now, after everything— _despite_ everything. “Whyyy is it worth asking if we have any ‘entertaining’ skills?” Sideswipe asked, a little suspicious. They both had an unpleasant inkling of what the reason for that might be.

Skywarp swiftly confirmed their concerns. “Every now and then some of us are called to entertain during dinners, or serve drinks and such.”

_Entertain._

_Serve._

Sunstreaker snarled, but he got even more reasons for growling when Skywarp continued, “And Megatron enjoys private shows sometimes.”

It didn’t sound like Skywarp minded that one bit, but then the Seeker hadn’t really shown he’d mind damn _anything_ in this situation. If he got willingly fragged by Megatron, maybe even _enjoyed_ it, what was entertaining him otherwise next to that? A bit of song and dance or whatever it was Megatron wanted? Seemed pretty mild in comparison to what the tyrant could unleash if he felt like it.

“...Does he ask that from you often?” Sideswipe asked after a small delay.

“Every now and then,” Skywarp responded, his wings _fluttering_ like the thought of being asked to do that was pleasing to him. “Not as often as he asks Star, though. But I can show you some moves Megatron likes, at some point!”

Sunstreaker snarled harder and Sideswipe grimaced. “Thanks but no thanks, ‘Warp.”

The Seeker’s wings drooped, and frag, but why did he do that every time he was turned down, even when it was something _absolutely_ worth turning down? In their circumstances? Why the slag would they want to do _anything_ that Megatron liked? It was bad enough when they were forced into it, they didn’t… They didn’t fragging want to do that shit _voluntarily._

The other harem members, though? Seemed real slagging _eager_ to please Megatron. It continued to look like they would gain no understanding from any of them.

Pits, they had to get the frag out of here sooner rather than later.

* * *

Where they’d expected their unending torment to just continue in one form or another, it… Didn’t. Not instantaneously at least. Megatron made no appearance, didn’t summon the twins—only Starscream left the wing at any point, and when he returned, he reeked of interface, and looked the part too.

Which probably meant he had seen Megatron.

But beyond that… It was almost peaceful, as anxious as they were for when that peace would _end_ and their world shatter back into rape, rape, and more _rape._

If they could have a break from it all though, frag, it wasn’t unwanted. 

The other mates, though, they seriously couldn’t keep their spikes and valves covered for even half the time, or so it felt like. The moments when someone wasn’t fragging someone else felt mighty rare. They had no shame either—they’d shag practically anywhere, be it the berthroom, the washracks, the dining hall, or the entertainment room. Only in the library could they escape it. It was kept as a quiet area, and when the other mates came there, it was to browse, read, or use the few consoles available, all in silence or, at most, conversation in hushed tones.

They preferred the library for a time, but it was _too_ quiet, at least for Sideswipe. And he found out he wasn’t much the reading type either. It was the entertainment room with its big screens and gaming consoles that called to him, and after all the slag that had happened, they didn’t have the spark to split up even though Sunstreaker was just fine with the library only. The selection of book files felt practically endless—there was so much to lose yourself in.

Even if _everything_ had the heavy stench of propaganda about it. Somehow they managed to make even the anatomy books sound biased in Kaon’s favor.

Fucking incredible.

But they tried out the entertainment room too, and… Did their best to ignore how often the other mates got it going. There was never much warning either, just a few looks, maybe a bit of groping, and off they were! It was _maddening,_ but what could they do about it? It wasn’t like anyone needed _their_ permission for it, and as far as the manners of the place went, nothing and no one suggested it was considered rude in any shape or form.

Just… _Normal,_ if anything. The other mates would either pay it no attention, or they’d join in, depending on their own moods, and no one treated it as anything out of the ordinary. And with how freaking often it was happening, it was probably hard to even approach it as anything more than _ordinary._

Was for the others, anyway. Not so much for the twins. _They_ struggled to push it aside and not think about it, especially if it started happening _right next to them._ What were you supposed to do in that situation except focus on the screen and the screen only, and stream the audio directly into your processors so you could just… Turn down your audials? 

If the others noticed their discomfort, they didn’t do a damn thing about it, nor did they let it affect their own behavior. But really, Sunstreaker wouldn’t have bet on them even _noticing._

There were some good games on the consoles, though. All Kaon made, _of course,_ which meant you were often fighting or puzzling against _Free Cybertron—_ or _Unified_ Cybertron as they called it—but slag, they could ignore details like that. A game was a game, and as few opportunities as they’d had to play any video games in their life, they’d always enjoyed them.

And now they had a lot of time to dedicate to that. Sideswipe in particular was _enthralled_ by them and quickly gained a taste for his favorite types of games, and favorite titles.

It was for the best. It took their minds off things. 

But not _too_ much. They never lost their aim: escape. They were the last ones into the berthroom during the evenings, and spent the quiet time between everyone else’s absence and their own need for recharge _snooping around._ If there were servants’ doors around, they needed to find them. 

Unfortunately, they had little luck. It didn’t help one bit that they didn’t know _what_ they were looking for among all the decorative seams the walls were full of. How were they supposed to know which ones might be a doorway? Was there a way to test it? Could they uncover them by opening them? _How_ did you open them? Knock and listen for differences between presumed wall and potential door?

They tried that, but the results… Weren’t great.

Every night they went to the berthroom none the wiser to any entrances or exits aside from the ever guarded _main doors._

* * *

It was a few days after Starscream’s questions on their skills that there was some happenstance on that front. “Mail’s here!” sounded from the hallway while they were watching some hospital drama in the entertainment room—something about a poor, _poor_ resident of _Unified_ Cybertron that had escaped into Kaon in terrible shape, and only the Kaonite medics could help his frame type, or something along those lines. _All hail Kaon_ or whatever.

Ignoring that, they shared a curious look between them at the announcement of mail, but when only _some_ of the mates got up and wandered out, they opted to not follow. Not like they’d have any mail for them, anyway. Right?

Wrong. Skywarp walked in a few minutes later with a package in his hands. “Sunstreaker! This one’s for you,” he said, a twinkle in his optics.

The twins straightened, then Sunstreaker frowned. Was he going to like this or not?

Something gave him the feeling the answer would be _no._

Nevertheless, Sideswipe took the nondescript package from Skywarp and handed it to him. 

It wasn’t very heavy despite its dimensions—thin, but broad, although not uncomfortably so. Easy to handle.

His confusion deepened, as did his frown, but Sunstreaker removed the outer packaging gently.

The inner packaging revealed the contents. Sideswipe’s optical ridges shot up and Sunstreaker’s optics widened when the box of a _drawing tablet_ greeted him. He had no idea how high or low end it was, having never more than dreamed of one, but pits, the package sure advertised a lot of features.

Even more careful, Sunstreaker opened the box and slid the tablet itself out. Lean, but still thick enough to be easy to keep a hold of, a stylish, glossy black… It was pretty. Very, very pretty.

Sunstreaker turned it around in his servos for a moment, just _inspecting_ it, before he plugged into it and charged its battery with energy from his own. After that a press of the power button had the screen blink on. He explored the device’s contents through the hardline, the screen shifting through settings and help manuals—every part of the software was thorough and clearly designed for maximum customization.

You could make it just how you liked it, if you knew what you were doing.

Sunstreaker had no idea what he was doing, how he’d like the settings, but if he could use this, he was sure he’d find his preferences soon enough. 

They had a bit of an audience by now, several of the mates having gathered around them to observe the dawning marvel on his face, in his field. “This is… For me?” Sunstreaker asked just to make sure, glancing up at Skywarp.

Starscream had appeared behind him. “You said you paint,” he said simply, to which Sunstreaker nodded. He had said that, hadn’t he? And he’d hoped something would come out of it, but pits… He hadn’t expected _this._

“Thanks?” Sideswipe said a bit hesitantly, tilting his helm at Starscream.

The next words out of the Seeker’s mouth _burned._ “Thank Megatron.”

Sunstreaker’s optics scrunched shut and his grip on the tablet tightened—though not enough to risk damaging it. Sideswipe dropped his optics too, with just a quiet, “Yeah, sure.”

It always came back to Megatron, didn’t it? Wasn’t everything here only thanks to Megatron? Couldn’t he strip it all away if he felt like it? Wasn’t _he_ in control?

Even _this,_ only because of him. Only because he permitted it, only because he authorized it, _no?_

Sideswipe gently nudged him, advised him to just _enjoy_ it—enjoy what they could here, try to survive the rest until they got out.

And… Maybe he could take this with him when they left.

So Sunstreaker nodded, with no intentions of _ever_ thanking Megatron for a damn thing, but if it appeased the other mates, _Starscream,_ it would do the trick. 

“Will you show us what you can do?” one of them asked, looking curious, eager—happy. 

“Yeah, you should!”

“Please?”

Well, he’d made credits painting in plain view of others, hadn’t he? “I don’t know how to use it yet,” he cautioned the lot of them, to a chorus of trusting encouragements.

Sideswipe smiled just so, and even Sunstreaker’s mouth was tugged into the smallest of upticks. He opened a new canvas, scrolled through the brushes before picking one to start with, and set to work… And tried to forget the where and the why.

* * *

“Megatron’s called an orgy tonight!” came the holler from the hallway later that day. Sideswipe found the wherewithal to actually glance up from his game, and Sunstreaker did the same from his drawing. The words were slow to set in— _dread_ slammed in after. 

Not _again._

They’d had days, _days_ without anyone touching them. Days without Megatron and his games.

They’d always known it wasn’t going to last, but pit, that didn’t make them any more prepared for it.

“He’s been so busy lately that he’s bound to be in a _mood,”_ one of the mates elsewhere in the entertainment room commented.

Another laughed. “That’s what we’re here for! We’ll unwind him still. You think Soundwave will come?”

“Probably not if Megatron feels too stressed. He’ll want us all for himself.”

“Fair’s fair.”

There was nothing _fair_ about any of that!

Sideswipe’s tanks roiled badly enough that he had to set the game down, his focus shattered. Sunstreaker only busied himself with his drawing twice as hard—but his servo was shaking. Megatron was bad enough on the usual, he was fragging _nightmare fuel_ on the usual, and now they were saying he was in a _mood?_

They had no idea what that meant exactly, but it couldn’t be anything good. Nothing with Megatron was anything good. 

Tonight. That still left a good portion of the day for them to sit around anxiously, just… Waiting. 

Horrid, horrid waiting.

“What are we going to do?” Sideswipe asked from him so very quietly, fighting back his tears at the thought of _more._ More of what Megatron had already dished out—of what had happened in the last _orgy._ Were they going to be made sharewares all over again?

Even if they weren’t… If Megatron so much as laid optics on them, that would be bad enough. They didn’t want his attention. That only brought about bad things and suffering, one way or another. Could they even predict what kind? Megatron had so many tricks in his arsenal and had to have performed this whole song and dance for who knew how many times before. He knew what he was doing. He knew how to make things _hurt,_ inside and out.

“We won’t go,” Sunstreaker responded just as quietly. “We just won’t. That’s all we can do.” Maybe they’d be dragged there anyway, like last time, and… Primus, but trying to deny their interfacing protocols if the damn signal was turned on again would be nothing short of torture, but it was better than giving Megatron what he wanted. 

“Sides! Sunstreaker!” Skywarp waved at them from the entertainment room’s doorway before skipping in with a bounce in his step. How the slag the mech could be so happy with everything going on around him, they’d never understand. “Do you want to come prepare with us? We’re getting a headstart,” he grinned at them. “It’s so much more fun when you’re not in a hurry.”

Prepare. They knew just what that meant, what kind of _fun_ Skywarp was talking about.

“No thanks,” was all Sideswipe said and Sunstreaker growled for good measure.

This time Skywarp looked like he was expecting the answer, but his wings still tilted down.

He didn’t argue, though. “We’ll be in the berthroom if you change your mind,” he said before he walked back out, not quite as bouncy as when he’d come in. 

Pits, he didn’t want to feel _bad_ for the mech.

They were in relative peace in the entertainment room for a few more hours before the rest of the mates started to _prepare_ themselves as well, some of them on the many couches strewn around the room. And at that point… They’d probably go at it for too long for comfort, so the twins left and returned to the quiet and solitude of the library. Sideswipe sat down in front of one of the consoles and browsed around for more information about the games he was dedicating himself to. After a delay Sunstreaker occupied another console and set to search for tutorials and tips on the usage of the tablet he’d gotten. You could never know too much, right?

Something to just… Take their minds off of things, of what the slag the very near future would bring.

 _Very_ near. They’d barely settled before it started, as sudden as the first time, and just as strong. Sideswipe doubled over immediately, groaning against the console as _arousal_ rocked his world, and Sunstreaker wasn’t feeling much better. His claws dug into the metal of the desk and he stared at its surface sightlessly, trying, trying so hard to package and _push aside_ whatever it was that took control of his interface protocols and sent them into overdrive. 

He had no success. No success whatsoever. All he accomplished was the further heating of his frame until he was gasping for cool air, vents blown wide.

His valve slicked within a minute or two, as did Sideswipe’s. His spike pinged readiness too, but at least he managed to keep his covers closed—for now.

It wasn’t long that they sat there battling their frames before they could—dimly, through the haze of their forced incitation—hear fast, clipped pedefalls coming down the hall, approaching the library. Sunstreaker glanced up when they reached the door.

Starscream.

“Sunstreaker. Sideswipe. Berthroom. _Now,”_ he said, and based on the strangled quality of his voice, he was fighting the very same battle they were. Well, good to know even the more _adjusted_ members of the harem weren’t unaffected by or used to _this._

Why Starscream wasn’t in the berthroom himself, _giving in_ to the damn transmission, he didn’t know—unless it was specifically to fetch _them._

Sideswipe shook his helm and _moaned_ a quiet, “No,” but that only brought a growl from Starscream’s engine that was half arousal, half anger. He marched over to Sunstreaker and caught him by the back of his neck, dragging him out of his seat and onto his pedes before he could get his processors to agree with him enough to _resist._ In short order he was pulled to Sideswipe, and the same was repeated to him. 

“I will not let you endanger everyone in the harem with your _defiance,”_ he hissed at them once he had a firm hold of the both of them and began to _drag_ them from the library. He was stronger than he looked, too. Or maybe he and Sideswipe were weakened by their haywire processors—although if that was the case, shouldn’t it affect Starscream the same?

Frag, he didn’t know. It was hard to get his thoughts to even fire straight, without all of them twisting back to how _hot_ and _ready_ his frame was. The hallway came and went in a blur as Starscream manhandled them over to the berthroom doors, then through them into the scene of the damned _orgy._

Like last time, everyone had their panels open—everyone had a partner or several. Megatron was sitting on the large, raised berth, overlooking it all.

It was hard to match frames with names, but Sunstreaker thought it was Hot Shot kneeling between the tyrant’s legs, bobbing his helm along his spike.

And if they had to be here— _if they had to be here,_ he would have preferred to be as far away from Megatron as possible. Pits, if it had to happen, then he’d rather have it with the other mates.

But Starscream dragged them straight to the dais. Megatron ordered Hot Shot off of him and with a single gesture drove him off the berth entirely to merge with the other mates fucking their sparks silly. Megatron, then, leaned over to replace Starscream’s grip on their necks with his own, and in a show of his immense strength, dragged them onto the berth with no visible effort on his part. They were both pulled to him, and a nod had Starscream climbing onto the berth as well.

And… This was it, wasn’t it? Megatron was going to have his way, _again,_ and this time… His field spoke of displeasure. Anger.

Sunstreaker wasn’t sure if it was aimed at them or if it was as the other mates had said and Megatron was just _stressed,_ but he was damn sure _they_ would be the ones to feel it either way. 

“You need to learn to join the _fun_ from the beginning,” Megatron growled at them, but he released Sideswipe, as little as his brother found himself capable of crawling away. He was shaking from helm to pede, his frame at its _limit_ —engine roaring, core temperature skyrocketing, his valve leaking past the seams of its panel.

His frame _wanted,_ it _needed,_ but his mind still fought, their spark still raged against it all. “Starscream,” Megatron said and nodded at Sideswipe, and with that, as if he’d been invited, Starscream scooted over to his brother and lifted his hips. Sideswipe moaned at just that bit of contact, and when the Seeker’s deft claws stroked along his valve cover’s seams, it snapped back in a matter of seconds no matter how fucking _hard_ Sideswipe tried to fight it. 

Starscream released his spike and drove home, his frame shuddering—from _relief,_ no doubt. Sideswipe wailed into the berth when his calipers were split wide so abruptly, but it wasn’t a sound of pain.

Just _pleasure._

So much pleasure.

And it only got worse when Starscream began to move, but Sunstreaker was distracted from his twin by Megatron. The tyrant pulled him upright, spread his legs wide for him to straddle his lap, his spike still standing stiff and proud from its housing—and Sunstreaker had little hope this wouldn’t go just how Megatron wanted it. His frame was _screaming_ at him for the proximity of another frame, another frame ready to _interface,_ and it hurt. It hurt in spark, it hurt in mind, it hurt in body, just for different reasons.

He couldn’t get words out. He wanted to. He wanted to tell Megatron to go to the fucking pits, to go die and rust in the gutters where he belonged, tell him just what he thought of him–

–But when Megatron lifted him enough for his spike tip to brush against his closed valve cover, all Sunstreaker could produce was _static._

Megatron wasn’t patient, this time. He wasn’t playing around. His intent was clear as day when he rubbed his spike tip against his cover, back and forth, _relentless_ until Sunstreaker couldn’t _take it_ anymore. His helm fell back at the same time as his frame overrode all of his mind and spark and the cover snapped back.

Then he was dropped, Megatron’s spike striking true, impaling him, opening him so fucking _wide…_

It didn’t hurt near as much as it should have. He was getting a sense of déjà vu, too—like he’d been here before, _just like this._ His engine revved, the infernal protocols far from satisfied, but still _rewarding_ him with mind blowing ecstasy as Megatron started to frag him, drawing him up only to let him fall back down. 

Something about it was harsher than usual, like Megatron was holding back _violence_ and using Sunstreaker’s frame to air whatever frustrations he had in a somewhat more merciful manner.

There was no mercy in this, though. Not in being forced to enjoy this—no matter how his frame wanted it, it was only forced on him. Even if Megatron had opted to beat him instead… Slag, he would have preferred that over the _pleasure._

But he wasn’t given a choice, like he wasn’t given a true choice in anything. And if he’d hoped it would be limited to just the use of his valve, he was _wrong._ Megatron leaned down and closed his lips on his, biting roughly, and when Sunstreaker didn’t have enough presence of mind to keep his fragging mouth _closed,_ his glossa pushed in. Sunstreaker recoiled, or tried to, but Megatron’s servo merely came up to the back of his helm and kept him in place as the rough mouth pressed against his— _used_ that part of him like every other part of him was being used. 

Sideswipe was forced to watch it too, and his brother _cried_ for him. Everything intimate, Megatron was claiming it, until there would be nothing left that he wouldn’t have touched and _ruined._ Sunstreaker couldn’t turn away from it any more than Sideswipe could stop witnessing it, not only because the disgust and the _no!_ rang so loud in their spark, but because Starscream had pinned him, thoroughly. The Seeker kept one hand on Sideswipe’s hip, his claws digging in painfully— _but never enough to convince his frame this wasn’t all something to be_ desired—keeping his aft up, and the other, the other servo was pressing against Sideswipe’s helm, trapping him against the berth with not even enough room for motion for him to turn his helm.

And Sideswipe couldn’t close his optics, horror and despair keeping his attention glued on Sunstreaker, on Megatron.

And Megatron fucked him until Sunstreaker stiffened in overload—the first of many of tonight, he was sure. Megatron let the clenching of his valve pull him over the edge too, the charge from his frame crackling against Sunstreaker, his release spilling into his valve in strong pulses. The tyrant bit down on his lower lip, harsh, without pity.

But then that was over and Megatron released him. Sunstreaker slumped against his chassis, his vents still heaving—harder than before, even.

This wasn’t _enough._ Nothing would be _enough_ if the last time was anything to go by. Sideswipe screamed his own overload, Starscream hissed and came himself, and still he just continued, because it wasn’t any different for him, was it?

Overload after overload after overload, that was what this was going to be until _Megatron_ decided they were all done. And before that moment, his frame wouldn’t stop asking, _begging_ for more. 

Even now, still sitting with the despot’s spike lodged deep in his frame, he wanted—no, _his frame_ wanted—to move, to drive himself into the next overload after that, and then the next, until infinity if that’s what it took—until it fucking _killed_ him. Nothing else would be enough. 

Sideswipe was crying harder as the feedback from each of them only multiplied their experience, the way their spark cried _no more_ of no consequence to the protocols going mad. They didn’t care, they didn’t listen, they just wanted more… And before Sunstreaker could stop himself, he was shifting on Megatron’s spike in restless motions, just to have that sensation, just to have his sensors fired up again.

Before Sideswipe could stop himself, he was rocking back into Starscream’s thrusts.

But Megatron pushed Sunstreaker off of him with little enough care that he fell back on the berth before he could catch himself. It didn’t matter anyway, Megatron wasn’t _done_ with him yet. He was flipped over to his stomach without much warning, put in the same position as his brother–

–And then Megatron had already thrust back into his valve and set up a truly punishing pace.

It should have hurt. Frag, but it should have been torture, with the speed, with the strength of it, the way it rocked his frame and hammered into his internals.

Instead Sunstreaker cried out as his frame tensed in one spectacular overload, convinced that everything was _pleasure_ and nothing else. Megatron growled through it and didn’t stop, didn’t so much as slow down despite the way his valve rippled and tightened. 

Another overload.

Then one more.

And still his frame just wanted _more._ Sunstreaker thought he might go crazy, lose his fucking mind to this, to the constant _demand_ his body was stuck in. Nothing could satisfy it, every overload just a temporary relief of a few seconds before his frame was already on the hunt for the next one.

His desperation grew. Sideswipe’s desperation grew, caught in the exact same situation.

What were they desperate for? For it to _stop,_ but also… For it to _continue._

Conflict. Neither side could come out on top, not with their wills so strong, not with the signal’s control of their interface protocols so strong. They were caught in the middle, suspended in _wanting_ and _not wanting,_ with no way out. 

At least Starscream wasn’t playing anything. He used Sideswipe, but his field spoke of his own arousal, the unnatural one that had overtaken everyone but Megatron. Starscream only chased after pleasure, nothing else. There were no mind games with him.

And for the longest time, that stayed true for Megatron too. Oh, he ‘faced Sunstreaker harder than he’d gotten ‘faced before or since his first day here, when the _court_ had had their way with them, but it was a straightforward chase for pleasure. Megatron didn’t have the desperation, but he’d proven several times over that he enjoyed overloads as much as the next mech. So that’s what he did.

Until he _didn’t,_ anymore. Sunstreaker was on the cusp of another overload when Megatron simply pulled out, leaving him aching and empty—so fucking empty, his calipers flat out incapable of tightening back up after everything they’d been through, tonight and before. 

He _despised_ the part of him that missed the spike the moment it left him, and he hated his frame for _whining_ after it. He was so close to coming again, and that was all his body cared about. It _wanted,_ to the pits with what his spark thought, to the pits with what his conscious thought tried to say. 

There was so little left except the fucking _need_ to interface.

And then it started. Megatron let the tip of his spike rest at the entrance to his valve, little motions of his hips brushing it across it, but pits–

–He didn’t enter. He wouldn’t enter, and when Sunstreaker’s hips twitched back despite himself to fragging _get it,_ Megatron caught his hips with a warning rumble and shackled him in place with his grip.

He wouldn’t get that spike before _Megatron_ decided he would. He didn’t even want it!

His frame wanted it like it had never wanted anything before. 

Sunstreaker grit his denta, unable to bear the torrent of arousal storming in his systems, and yet left with no choice but to do just that— _denied_ everything else.

“Did you like the tablet?” Megatron asked him.

Their spark flushed _cold_ even as their frames danced on the edge of overheating dangerously. 

‘Thank Megatron’, Starscream had said.

And here Megatron was, _bringing it up,_ and Sunstreaker thought he might just know where this was going.

But he didn’t answer with anything more than a fitful growl, his hips jerking against Megatron’s hold—but not to fragging get away. He wanted to get away, but he wanted that spike, in his goddamn valve, not teasing him like this–

_He didn’t fucking want it!_

When the silence stretched on, it was Starscream who spoke. “He was playing with it all day.”

And there it went. He did like it, and now Megatron knew too. The tyrant laughed lowly, but Sunstreaker wasn’t sure how much the sound had any genuine amusement in it, and how much of it was just _cruelty._

“You do, then. _What do you say,_ Sunstreaker?”

Nothing. He said nothing, even though his engine whined and revved desperately, convinced he was going to slagging _die_ if he didn’t get that fragging spike _right now…_

When he’d waited too long, Megatron caught the back of his helm in a vice grip in one of his massive servos and pulled and bent him until his spine was in an all too familiar, painful arch. Sunstreaker hissed, but even that, the genuine pain of strained parts, wasn’t enough to stamp down on his arousal.

His valve leaked. He could feel the mix of transfluid and lubricant trailing down the backs of his thighs, nothing to hold it back, and the feeling that made his mind crawl only reminded his _frame_ of what it _wanted, needed,_ and was _denied._

“What do you say?” Megatron repeated, this time whispering the words into his audial, and pits, but he kept _moving_ his spike. Sunstreaker could feel it brushing against the outside of his valve, over and over again, so tantalizingly _close_ and yet _not quite there_ —not quite where he fucking _needed_ it.

_He didn’t want it._

He’d die for it. 

He knew what he’d need to do to get it.

He refused.

His spark felt fit to burst. He ached, from helm to pede, every part of him—his frame hurt from being denied, his spark hurt from _wanting_ something he _didn’t want,_ and his mind hurt from battling it all.

_Was he going to lose?_

There was no end to it.

There would be no end to it before Megatron said so.

And Megatron was teasing the opening of his valve with just the _tip_ of his spike. It wasn’t enough!

_How could he win?_

Megatron bent him further, _pain–_

His spike kept being so _close–_

Sunstreaker grit his denta, tried to _bear_ it–

Megatron growled, the sound vibrating the air everywhere around him. Sideswipe keened through another overload off to the side—still Megatron forced him further back until a low groan rose in Sunstreaker’s throat, his spinal strut aching, on the verge of breaking all over again.

But that wasn’t what worried him. It was the pleasure that bloomed from Sideswipe, adding to his own, but not enough to push him over the edge and into _release_ that would never be the _last,_ but that he wanted all the same. 

He wanted so badly, and Megatron was dangling it right in front of him, _right behind him,_ complementing that with the painful threat—pleasure, pain, danger mingling until he couldn’t make sense of anything through the mist on his thoughts, thickened by every minute he spent without what he _needed._

His will, so strong. _How could he lose?_

“Sunstreaker,” Megatron _whispered_ into his audial and he couldn’t help gasping, and then Megatron, the _bastard,_ slowly, _incrementally,_ pushed just the tip of his spike into his valve.

It wasn’t _enough._

He needed _more._

He needed–

_“What do you say?”_

His voice, his fucking voice, deep, gravelly, rough, reverberating in his _core–_

He _couldn’t–_

“Thank you,” Sunstreaker gasped, _hating_ himself the _second_ those words slipped from his vocalizer—Megatron _growled,_ but where he’d expected relief, _relief_ from his frame for saying those words…

There came none. “Tell me what you want,” Megatron ordered him instead.

_No…_

_“Don’t–”_ Don’t make him say it. 

Don’t make him _ask_ for it.

“Don’t?” the tyrant questioned, fake _confusion_ in his voice, and then he pulled back from his valve, until his spike abandoned it completely. Sunstreaker screamed in sheer _frustration_ as his frame jerked back to chase after the damned thing, but only achieved further _pain_ on his back.

He was going to go mad. His frame didn’t spare him, all it did was demand _more,_ all but punishing him for every moment he didn’t spend satiating the protocols that would not be satisfied anyway, no matter what he did.

_But that didn’t mean he shouldn’t be giving them what they wanted._

He’d die if he didn’t.

Or so it felt like.

It was excruciating, and every second was worse than the last. “Don’t you want it?” Megatron rumbled, and he knew what he was doing, he knew _exactly_ what he was doing… “Tell me what you want, Sunstreaker.”

Tears. They filled his optics before he could get a hold of himself and ran down his cheeks even past his optical shutters.

Don’t make him _say_ it.

Don’t make him _beg_ for it.

The spike nudged against his outer valve again, and everything shattered. _“Please.”_ He hadn’t known he could ever hate himself, the egotistical creature he was, but he _loathed_ himself now.

He needed. _“Please let me have your spike.”_

He thought his spark might snuff itself from how leaden it turned, but Megatron’s field pulsed with _approval_ and he shoved his spike _deep, all_ the way–

And Sunstreaker came on the spot, shouting as unspeakable energy exploded through his frame, overwhelming him—Megatron released his helm, but his back barely straightened from the _stiffening_ of every cable and piston in his body.

The tyrant, that _fucker,_ he was finally moving, finally doing something other than _toying_ with him, thrusting through every ripple of his calipers, and he couldn’t take it, _he couldn’t,_ not with the pleasure only multiplying, continuing–

But Megatron had no mercy for him. He kept rocking in and out of his frame until the unbelievable pleasure reached its peak and turned into pain on the other side–

But still it hurt so good, it hurt so _fucking_ good he didn’t want it to _stop–_

Yet it did, because Megatron reached his own completion, his transfluid shooting into Sunstreaker’s valve all over again before he simply pulled out and let Sunstreaker collapse onto the berth with barely enough mind about him to catch himself with his arms. He was shaking, exhaustion, hatred, guilt, pain and pleasure mixing into a poisonous combination that he wasn’t sure wouldn’t leave permanent marks on him. He could clean his frame, he could be fixed, he could make himself look like nothing ever happened once he was out of here…

But the memories would stay and taint him.

He was crying still, although he tried to fight the tears back—fought to collect himself despite the arousal that continued to rise and rage in his frame and made every thought so short lived before it always came back to the _want_ and the _need._

“Give him here,” Megatron said, and Sunstreaker didn’t have the strength to turn to look, but he didn’t need to see.

Megatron reached for Sideswipe and Starscream let go of him at once. His brother wasn’t doing a hell of a lot better than he was, all but strutless from the amount of overloads already wrung from him. Megatron didn’t care and simply caught him by the neck, dragging him over to him, between his legs.

Right next to his erect spike.

_Not again._

“Suck it clean,” came the order this time around, as they’d expected.

Sideswipe shook his helm. He barely had the strength to keep himself propped up on his arms, but he shook his helm, denying with all his might.

How would Megatron force _him?_

The answer became clear very quickly when Megatron caught him by a horn and began to squeeze. There was something about his field too, _malice_ that hadn’t been there before. How far would he go this time around? A horn was a small price to pay, but why would he have stopped there?

“What do you say, Sideswipe?”

Just that phrase was enough for his brother to burst into even greater tears, the _reminder_ of the orns spent with just Megatron sapping the rest of his strength. Sunstreaker could scarcely make sense of emotion storming in their spark as Sideswipe _collapsed_ against the tyrant’s thigh—fear, hurt, loneliness, helplessness.

 _He was right here,_ but he could do nothing to save Sideswipe from any of that. He would have tried anyway, but when he managed to push himself up enough to roll over, Starscream moved to him and caught his spike cover. It was clear what the Seeker wanted, and pits, but when Megatron yanked Sideswipe up, still by his horn, the physical and the emotional became too much. Physical, the pleasure of Starscream’s experienced servo fondling his spike cover, and the emotional—everything from Sideswipe, his _twin,_ the harrowing he was forced to endure right that very _moment._

His mind didn’t know what to do between the conflicting signals from frame and spark. His upper modesty panel snapped back, his spike pressurized painfully fast—and Starscream took hold of it, thoroughly distracting him.

The Seeker leaned in to whisper into his audial, “You will _not_ intervene.”

Sunstreaker growled a second before his frame stiffened in overload, his spike pulsing transfluid onto Starscream’s servo—onto his own plating. 

There was so little he could do with the flier playing his frame like it was an _instrument,_ thoroughly exploiting the _affected_ state of his interface protocols. 

There was so little Sideswipe could do when Megatron brought back all the trauma that had barely had the time to push beneath the surface. _“What do you say, Sideswipe?”_ he repeated, and Sideswipe’s armor was _rattling_ with how badly he was shaking. The memories flooded in, every last one of them, and his resistance _crumbled_ in the face of them.

“Yes, my Lord.”

It killed something in Sunstreaker to hear, for himself, with this frame, those words coming out of his brother’s vocalizer, as much as he shared those memories, as much as he _knew_ Sideswipe had already uttered them several times before. It was still different to hear them like this, than it was to know they’d been spoken from memories.

And it was so different to be right next to him, yet incapable of doing anything, as Sideswipe gathered what little strength he had, prompted by _fear_ and nothing else, and raised himself up enough to take the tyrant’s soiled spike into his mouth—and it took nothing more than Megatron’s servo on the back of his helm for him to push down all the way on it.

It hurt. Physically too, sure, but more than that, their spark was _wailing_ from it all. Bent and beaten in so many ways… How much more could they _take?_

_As much as they’d need to._

They’d get out.

But first… First there was nothing more to do than _suffer._ “Sunstreaker,” Megatron spoke up once Sideswipe was working his spike in a _satisfactory_ rhythm, forcing himself into it, over and over again as he took the spike down his throat despite _everything_ in him screaming about how much he didn’t want it.

But of course it didn’t get better.

Of course it could only get worse. Megatron continued, “Come spike your brother.”

Starscream let go of him, gave him the _room_ to do as he was told. Sunstreaker propped himself up on his elbows and glared, _hatred_ surging and giving him strength. He couldn’t deny his frame’s needs, but pits… His emotional cortex hadn’t stopped existing and their spark hadn’t stopped feeling. 

His vocalizer wasn’t very cooperative and he wouldn’t have trusted it to function without cracking, but Sunstreaker let his silence speak for itself. Megatron raised an optical ridge at him, but… There it was again. There wasn’t the _amusement_ there that they were used to by now. 

Megatron wasn’t playing around. Was that the _mood_ the other mates had talked about?

Was this it? The impatience, the barely veiled cruelty brewing right underneath the surface, like it was barely contained and ready to be unleashed at any provocation too great?

With everything Megatron had done when his mood had apparently been _good…_ What would he do when it _wasn’t?_

 _‘I will not let you endanger everyone in the harem with your_ defiance.’ Starscream had said that.

_Endanger._

Even now, when Sunstreaker did nothing, _Starscream_ acted. The Seeker was larger than him _by enough,_ stronger than him _by enough,_ and more used to this whole spiel _by enough_ to force him up, around, onto his knees—he was _by enough_ everything to send him sprawling against Sideswipe’s back. Sideswipe whined and would have pulled off of Megatron’s spike if the servo at the back of his helm hadn’t _tightened_ to keep him down.

And Sunstreaker could feel the tantalizing heat of his brother’s frame, the wetness of his valve _so close_ to his achingly stiff spike.

But he took an iron grip of himself and _did nothing._ He didn’t have enough wherewithal to push off and away, not when his frame was raving about _how much he wanted this,_ but neither did he need to go through with it. He _wouldn’t._

Fuck, but he wouldn’t.

 _It wasn’t optional._ Starscream gave him a few seconds, but when he didn’t act, the Seeker was again on him, pulling him back just a bit, grabbing a hold of his spike with one servo—and Sunstreaker had just the time to growl a ferocious “No!” before Starscream had aimed his spike to the entrance of Sideswipe’s valve, and _shoved_ him in.

He nearly blacked at out from the pleasure. Starscream’s servo was good, but it was nothing compared to the moist heat that surrounded him now. Sideswipe made a wounded sound, and Sunstreaker wanted to pull back— _he didn’t want to pull back_ —to spare his brother this, he didn’t want to use him— _he just wanted to use him_ —something, _anything_ to escape it–

But even if he had had any hope of making his frame obey his mind, and he wasn’t too sure about even that much, Starscream didn’t let him. The Seeker stayed at his back, pinned him between him and Sideswipe, between two hot, revving frames—and worse yet, _Starscream_ nudged his spike into _Sunstreaker’s_ valve.

He overloaded, spike and valve, unable to withstand the feedback of having both parts of his penetrative equipment used, not when his frame was already dancing on the edge. _Stuck_ on the edge.

And his overload traveled into both Sideswipe and Starscream, who were no better off. Sideswipe made a strangled sound when his hips jerked back against Sunstreaker’s spike and his valve _tightened,_ at least somewhat. Sunstreaker could feel it, but it never turned as constricting as he would have expected—their parts bent too far out of shape by _Megatron._

More wetness joined his own valve as Starscream went through an overload of his own, spilling into him–

And Sunstreaker, caught between two frames expelling their charge, could do nothing as his systems overloaded _again._

Then Starscream began to move, extending both of their overloads and rocking him into Sideswipe’s frame in turn, and it was so little different from when Megatron had sandwiched Sideswipe between them.

He’d never wanted to experience it. He didn’t want to know what Sideswipe’s valve felt like, he didn’t want to be driven into his brother as Sideswipe was forced to shove a spike, one of the biggest they’d ever _seen,_ down his throat, time and time again. 

But Starscream took no pity on them, his field drawn tight but _cruelty_ in his actions.

And Megatron, wicked and mighty, he watched it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fourway  
> Background orgy  
> Rape (valve, throat, spike)  
> Coercion  
> Penetration from both ends  
> Simultaneous use of spike and valve  
> And yeah it's all noncon  
> Noncon kissing too


	11. How's the Heart?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Fair winds, my love  
>  Fly towards the calm  
> Fly utterly lost  
> Towards a beating heart, a beating heart_
> 
> _How is that heart  
>  Underneath the silence?  
> How is the one  
> Drowning in the mire?_
> 
> — Nightwish – How's the Heart?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End notes for the good old list of fuckery.

They’d found their way to their own cots at the back of the room at some point during the night. The memories were hazy, again, exhaustion muddling their thoughts, but it had to have happened after the damn signal was turned off.

At least… At least Megatron had somewhat lost interest in them after he’d come in Sideswipe’s mouth. He had waved them off to the side and called other, more _obedient_ members of the harem to see to him—using their mouths, having them ride his spike, kissing them, everything and anything, and the lot of looked like they were enjoying themselves as they practically (and sometimes literally) kissed the damned mech’s pedes.

But somewhat forgotten, the twins had slipped off the berth, only to collapse onto the floor, unable to overcome the weakness in their limbs from too many overloads, from too great arousal, from too much emotion.

The other mates, not called to the dais, came for them, gently guiding them from the floor and onto the cots where they welcomed them with open arms, _ignored_ Sunstreaker’s growls and Sideswipe’s pleas and used their valves, their spikes— _relieved_ them with murmurs of how it was _okay,_ there was no need to _fight it,_ how they should just _let go_ and listen to their crazed protocols. Because what else could they do?

There were overloads. So many of them, the stench of lubricant and transfluid so heavy he was surprised the air hadn’t _dripped._

Primus. He wasn’t even sure which was worse, Megatron or the other mates. Megatron was cruel, uncaring, only interested in what they could give him and how he could have exactly what he wanted. The mates, they veiled their rape in _kindness,_ like they were helping, guiding them into an awakening—and they had helped, because he wasn’t sure their systems wouldn’t have entirely burned out if they’d tried to fight their arousal, the protocols, for too long. The mates had helped them dispel some of that, _enough_ of it that it didn’t straight up kill them. 

But all of it had been… _So_ unwanted. And after their frames had tired too much, it had turned into a dream, out of focus—or what he’d wished was just a dream. A very, very bad dream disguised in a good one, a _pleasurable_ one, the kind that you could overload from without any external stimulus. 

It wasn’t a dream, though, and he couldn’t deny it had happened—not with the harem wing still surrounding them with its warm colors, smell of all permeating interface, the berthroom with its many cots… And the other mates. There were contended rumbles coming from elsewhere in the room, satiated _cuddling,_ quiet laughter… Everyone spent in the best— _worst_ —of ways. Even the frag crazed fraggers the mates were, were calm for the time. No one was interfacing, just… Enjoying the afterglow.

And he couldn’t deny the afterglow himself. His frame was buzzing pleasantly, the damned protocols that had been so wholly turned against him now laying dormant, disinterested in the way of being fully sated, _thanking_ him for all the attention he’d given them.

Without wanting to.

They sat on their cot, the one closer to the wall, their backs to the rest of the room, trying to forget everyone else and everything _they_ had done to them. Sideswipe was fiddling with his servos, scraping his claws together, his spark spinning too fast.

Sunstreaker sat, elbows on his knees and his helm clutched in his servos.

It wasn’t fine. None of it was _fine,_ no matter what the other mates said. Sideswipe was hurting so badly, unable to shake off the memories Megatron had brought to the forefront to _break_ his resistance. _My Lord._

Pits. Everything he’d been made to do under his own power, to show respect he didn’t feel, didn’t want to give. Made to wait there, in the solitude and quiet of Megatron’s berthroom for when the tyrant would come back and abuse him some more, never knowing when that would be or what it would bring.

Fuel and relative freedom dangled in front of him to force him to cooperate.

He couldn’t believe Sideswipe wasn’t crying as those memories spun around in his helm, joined by the ones from last night.

Sunstreaker wasn’t sure he was feeling much better, even if tears were beyond him too. Everything Megatron had done… During the time he’d spent alone with him, then the _relief_ of several days of _nothing,_ only for that to be… _Shattered._

Denied an overload, so aroused he thought he might die from it—denied, until he spoke the things Megatron wanted.

He couldn’t believe, now, that he’d given in so easily, that he’d _thanked_ that monster, that he’d _asked_ for his spike… How could he have been so _desperate?_ The memory of the need in his frame surely didn’t compare to what it was like in the moment, but still he couldn’t believe it.

 _Never again._ Could he promise that much to himself? Promise that he’d never again thank him, never again beg for him?

He wanted to, but his spark cracked with the almost certain knowledge that anything he would promise, any resistance he could offer… That Megatron would only break it, one way or another. 

It hurt. It hurt in both of them, and the pain echoed between them, bouncing back and forth until it didn’t matter whose it was. It was _theirs._ Their pain over the hell they’d gotten stuck in.

How he missed Iacon and its gutters, the low life of scraping by—it was so much better than _this._

But it had had its risks and its dangers, and they had fallen victim to those, only to end up in here.

They were rested now. Low on energon, but rested, and their fuel levels would be easily fixed if they dragged themselves to the dining hall. It was hard to find the will to move, though—easier to get caught up in their looping thoughts.

Starscream, too. He was a peculiar one. By all appearances… What? What was he? It was like he hated wasting time on them, but from the beginning he had taken the role of showing them around, showing them their _place,_ telling them what they needed to do and how they needed to do it—performing the near administrative tasks like giving them their language files and asking what they were _good for._

And yesterday… Acting as if he was keeping the harem itself safe, forcing them to please Megatron when they would have fought—why did he do that? Because Megatron was in a _mood,_ and that made him more dangerous than usual?

What was Starscream’s role in all of this? It was like he was the secondary leader of the harem. Was there a pecking order, then, one that Starscream was at the very top of, only bowing to Megatron and… The other free mechs, probably. It didn’t look like _Starscream_ was free in any shape or form. He lived and fucked in the harem just like the rest of them, only ever briefly leaving—always returning.

Did Starscream care enough, despite the appearance he put forth, that he was intent on keeping the harem members safe? And _he_ was likely the one who had started the event chain that had led Sunstreaker to have his drawing tablet. Maybe Megatron needed to have approved that, but wasn’t it Starscream who had asked what they did, and said he’d made note of it?

The one who had likely brought it up with Megatron, made the request?

It was as confusing as the rest of what the mates did and how they acted. 

Once again they could hear thrusters hitting the floor with every step, approaching them, but when they turned to look it was Skywarp, not Starscream. He was carrying two cubes and smiled at them when he had their attention. “I figured you’d be as hungry as the rest of us! Here,” he said, offering both of the cubes to them. 

Sideswipe took them a bit automatically, blinking at them only after they were both in his servos already.

Sunstreaker could feel him shrugging mentally before he passed one of the cubes to him. It appeared their contents were identical, down to their warmth and flavor.

“Thanks,” Sideswipe murmured quietly before taking a sip. As usual, the energon was fragging _delicious,_ and as full of energy as midgrade just could be. Sunstreaker followed suit and began to drink his own, giving his frame the fuel it very much needed. 

“You’re welcome! And thanks for last night, by the way. Megatron wasn’t in the best of moods, but you really took the edge off him,” Skywarp carried on, rocking on his heels and looking like he genuinely meant what he said.

Had they taken _one for the team_ or something?

They were quiet for a moment, drinking their energon, trying to… Trying to forget Skywarp’s participation in all of last night, before Sideswipe spoke up with their question. “What _could_ have happened, if he was in a bad mood?”

Skywarp glanced away from them, his wings flicking like he was… _Uncomfortable._ Well, that was a first. 

But it probably said something about what Megatron could do when he was in a _mood._ “Nothing good,” Skywarp responded at length, shaking his helm. “He doesn’t always take it out on _us_ or anything, but someone else out there might feel it before he comes to us.”

Out there. In the freedom.

And it was Skywarp admitting that Megatron sometimes mistreated them—by the sounds of it, even those that _behaved_ themselves. 

So had last night gone well, considering they hadn’t lost limbs or had any physical parts broken? That Megatron had _just_ raped them?

The twins shared a glance. They’d known, at least on some level, that Megatron was dangerous. Of course he was! He was fragging strong in all ways, powerful, and far too good at twisting everything into his favor… But Free Cybertron painted him as temperamental too, on top of being cruel as he had already proven to be.

They, though, had mostly seen him smug, amused, in control. Very few traces of any temper, any anger, no matter how they’d pushed.

But it was still there, wasn’t it? Under the surface, all the time. Were they _lucky_ they hadn’t come to the receiving end of it? Probably.

And… Now what? Was it _their_ job to bring the tyrant down from his more dangerous spells? That of the mates? Just… Frag him until he had burned out his anger and frustrations? 

Sideswipe bit his lip; Sunstreaker shook his helm. Some lot in life that was.

They _had_ to get out.

* * *

They eventually dragged themselves to the washracks and took their sweet time making the most of the facilities provided for them, ridding themselves of the signs of the orgy, the countless pain transfers, scuffs, dried fluids inside and out. With the amount of imperfections it was going to be a long process anyway, but they lengthened it further for their own enjoyment.

They had no reason not to. Take what they could, use it to prop themselves up, until they were out of here.

Even if they were no closer to finding a way out. But it didn’t matter how long it took. It didn’t matter.

One day, they’d make it out.

In the meantime, in between working towards that one singular goal, they finished touching up their finishes until they were shining, glowing all over again—for _themselves_ and for the joy of watching _themselves_ from the mirrors, no one else—and then headed for the entertainment room, again, after a quick detour to their trunks for Sunstreaker to fetch his tablet. Pass the time with something pleasant, waiting for a chance to find a way out. 

They sat themselves on one of the lush couches against the wall opposite the door, Sideswipe watching the show on the main screen, Sunstreaker burying himself in his drawing. He wasn’t going to let this one thing be taken from him just because it had been turned against him in short order.

He wouldn’t stop using it just because slagging Megatron had made him _thank him_ for it. Megatron wouldn’t have that victory. He wouldn’t ruin _this._

And… The other mates. Slag, this wasn’t even the first time they’d forced themselves on them. It should’ve been expected, after the _first_ orgy. Some of them were already in the entertainment room and others trickled in slowly… It wasn’t _comfortable_ to be around them, not really, but pits. There wasn’t really anywhere to get away from them all, unless they wanted to return to hiding in the library. 

Wasn’t the best they could do just try to _forget?_ They were stuck around the lot of them for now, anyway. They could hiss and growl at them all they wanted, but it wouldn’t change a damn thing.

He doubted it would make the other mates _understand_ any more than slagging _anything_ had so far. Anything they’d said or done, the others had only met with confusion. _Why were the twins so upset,_ they’d wonder.

They were already too messed up to get it, so warped they couldn’t understand _their_ position anymore. 

And they had to live surrounded by that for now… Frag. He’d be so happy to get to return to the outside world where mecha actually saw this shit as _unacceptable._ Like it was. Where they’d be rightly horrified by it.

Instead of… All this.

Sideswipe was frowning at the screen, but from his own distraction, it took Sunstreaker a moment to notice his thoughts running onto new tracks. Once he picked up on it, he glanced up at Sideswipe, who, by now, was passing his optics over the room in search of one pair of wings. 

As luck would have it, Skywarp was present, playing some board game with three other mates, laughing at whatever they were finding funny right then. Sunstreaker’s optics followed his brother as Sideswipe got up and wove his way past the furniture to them, seating himself next to Skywarp.

And tried not to think if any of them had fragged them last night, how many times, and in what ways.

“Hi, Sides!” Skywarp greeted him, as did the others, all offering smiles to him. “What’s up? Wanna join? There’s room for more!”

“Nah, I’m good just watching,” Sideswipe turned the invitation down with just a lopsided grin—not one his old, bright ones, full of zeal for life. Those Megatron had stolen from him, but… It was a grin all the same. He tried. “I was wondering if I could ask something, though.”

Skywarp looked at him curiously and the others followed suit, but the Seeker nodded. “Sure. Shoot away.”

“Okay, so, like half the stuff on tv and in the book files,” Sideswipe started, staring at the game board studiously, “the story ones, there’s almost always someone from Free Cybertron trying to get to or getting to Kaon, and then that’s like… The good ending. But I thought Kaon was closed to outsiders? Why does _that_ theme just repeat?”

The other mates shared a few glances among each other, but Skywarp was the one who replied. “Well, that’s the dream, isn’t it?” he asked, and Sideswipe glanced up at him in confusion. Skywarp clarified, “To escape Unified Cybertron.”

Now Sideswipe frowned. They didn’t even call it _Free_ Cybertron, although no one said anything to him for calling it that.

But they called it _Unified_ Cybertron, just like everyone and everything else here. And while the word “unified” wasn’t necessarily or inherently full of negative connotations, in this context it absolutely _was._

And what the pit was this about escaping Free— _Free_ —Cybertron? Into fragging Kaon of all places?

The damn hellhole where they’d been raped way too many times to count almost from the moment they’d crossed its borders? 

Sideswipe had a lot of things to say and a lot of anger to unleash, but instead all that came out was a quiet, “I don’t understand.”

Because he didn’t. He didn’t understand any of this. 

“Kaon is free of the Prime’s influence,” another of the mates answered. Topspin, maybe? He seemed to remember someone calling him that.

And… That was all he said. As if that explained _everything._

It didn’t. It didn’t explain _a damn thing._ Sideswipe’s frown deepened in even greater frustration and he scrubbed both of his servos down his face. And resisted the urge to just _scream._ Not even any words, just… Screm.

_Screm._

That would’ve been real nice right about now, but at the same time, he didn’t really want to make a scene in the middle of the entertainment room. Who knew where _that_ would get him. Maybe nothing would come out of it. At this point he doubted the other mates would’ve even understood why he was frustrated, why he was angry, why he felt fit to fragging explode… No matter how he voiced any of that.

They just lived their lives here, apparently happy to frag and get fragged and for some reason buying into this whole bullshit about _Kaon_ being the _Free_ part of Cybertron. That, despite the fact they were _all_ trapped in the harem wing.

What was free about that?

“Anyway,” Skywarp spoke up again and Sideswipe peeked at him from between his digits, “It doesn’t happen a lot, that’s true. It’d be dangerous to let too many in, but they’re stories. Fantasy. Make believe. You know? You can toy with the best case scenarios there, no matter how unlikely they’d be in real life.”

_Best case scenarios._

Sideswipe groaned. Pits, his helm was going to start hurting at this rate, trying to make sense of _how_ these mechs had been twisted into _believing_ all the garbage shot at them from every direction like from the barrel of a goddamn machine gun. It was all… Upside down. Everything here was. Wrong way around in every way imaginable.

“Thanks,” he mumbled before he slipped off the seat and wandered back to Sunstreaker. His brother was watching him, frowning like he was, equally disturbed by the _answers_ he’d gotten. 

Frag this place.

He flopped down next to his twin like he’d never left, but somehow he didn’t feel like watching the show as much anymore. Maybe he should play something instead. Sunstreaker had gone back to his drawing, happy to lose himself into his work, so he wasn’t going to be any entertainment.

Sideswipe turned on one of the smaller screens and browsed through the game library.

Someone noticed he was doing that. “Hey! Sideswipe– You’re Sideswipe, right?” a blue and white mech had turned around on one of the couches ahead of them and was looking straight at him.

“Yeah?” Sideswipe answered more than a little hesitantly. Had he… Done something wrong? He’d played the games before without anyone saying anything about it…

But no, it wasn’t like that. “I’m Twin Twist, nice to make our official introductions,” Twin Twist grinned at him before he gestured vaguely towards the screen Sideswipe had claimed for himself. “Wanna play Destiny’s Razor with me?”

Oh he liked that game, but he hadn’t tried its multiplayer property a lot yet.

It was an easy decision he came to after just a few seconds of considering it. Sideswipe grinned back and nodded. “Heck yeah.”

Twin Twist’s smile widened before he turned back around, picked the game and joined it, Sideswipe following suit—a bit of excitement curling in their spark.

Time to wreak some virtual _havoc._

* * *

After a while of playing, Sideswipe took Twin Twist’s invitation to join him on the couch the other mech was sitting on, to better enjoy the game together. Sunstreaker didn’t mind being left behind to his art.

And Sideswipe knew him. If nothing and no one interrupted him, he could draw all day and all night, foregoing fueling and recharge if he hit _the zone._ And… There hadn’t been chances for that often, on the streets. They needed to earn their living, and it wasn’t _safe_ to lose your focus of your surroundings like that.

Things were so different here. The only real threat was Megatron, otherwise they didn’t have _too_ much to worry about.

But speak of the devil… Sideswipe didn’t pay much attention to the heavy pedesteps coming down the hall, too engrossed in shooting things, but the wave of _arousal_ and _excitement_ in the fields around them kicked both of the twins out of their tasks. 

Their confusion only lasted a moment. One glance at the door and their spark shrunk in on itself.

Megatron was standing there, looking at the room at large like it was all there for him, and it was. It was all for him, every last one of them. 

And there were so many to choose from and more crowded in the hallway behind him, fields all around them fluttering with hope that they would be picked to do whatever Megatron wanted of them this time. 

Not the twins’ fields though, and yet Megatron’s optics first landed on Sunstreaker, clutching onto his tablet for dear life, and then that red gaze passed everyone else before zeroing onto Sideswipe, staring back at him like a deer in the headlights.

Megatron entered the room properly and walked over to one of the couches up front and center. Its occupants moved out of the way at once and the tyrant sat down on it, reclining on the assuredly comfortable piece of furniture. Everyone kept a respectful distance from him, despite the eagerness that was swamping the room.

There were only two little dots that didn’t join in on the sentiment, and it was _them_ that Megatron focused on. “Sunstreaker, Sideswipe. Come here.”

Sunstreaker growled, in no way motivated to do as he was told. Twin Twist nudged Sideswipe, jerking his helm towards Megatron. It was clear what everyone _else_ thought: the order had been given, thus it should be obeyed.

Without delay.

They delayed until Megatron’s optics began to narrow, and from there on… It wasn’t their choice anymore. Starscream was on the move again, first marching over to Sideswipe and grabbing him by a horn. Sideswipe’s squawk went completely ignored as Starscream simply dragged him over to Megatron and shoved him onto the couch next to him. Sideswipe laid still where he landed, his spark pulsing and rotating too fast for comfort—staring up at Megatron who met his gaze with something… _Dangerous_ dancing in those red optics. 

Starscream fetched Sunstreaker too, and he was thrown onto Megatron’s other side. The other mates closed ranks around them. He couldn’t have run even if he’d wanted to.

And he wanted to. He didn’t want to be here, with his plating brushing against Megatron’s, the vibrations of the tyrant’s powerful engine traveling into him just so.

Megatron didn’t remove his optics from Sideswipe and Sideswipe couldn’t look away, not even when one of Megatron’s servos came to… _Caress_ his cheek.

He shivered, from helm to pede. The touch was so unwanted, but fear rooted him in place.

He would’ve rather Megatron hit him. Not… _This._ Fake gentleness when he was sure Megatron didn’t have a gentle molecule in him. He was evil, rusted and rotten to his very core. 

Megatron only went on to prove that much with his next words. “Coax it out, Sideswipe.”

There wasn’t exactly a reason to ask what he was supposed to coax out. Not when they’d been here before, when he’d been given that order before—when he’d resisted, so fucking hard, or, or… He thought he had, anyway, before hunger had driven him into cooperation. 

“No,” Sideswipe said now, the shaking of his helm only stopped when Megatron caught a hold of his jaw—and that did nothing to stop the rest of his frame from shaking.

“That’s not what we say, is it, Sideswipe?” Megatron asked. Sunstreaker growled on his other side, but there was a flash of white, blue, and red, followed by angry cursing.

Starscream pinned Sunstreaker when his brother would have tried to intervene, would have tried to– To save him.

From this. From Megatron. Somehow. Could it have ever worked?

Shouldn’t they have tried anyway?

But they weren’t given the chance. 

Megatron’s grip on his jaw tightened as his silence stretched on, but it wasn’t pain that had tears running down Sideswipe’s cheeks in rivulets. It was bad enough when Megatron told that to him in private, told him to do things in private, when there was no one to see Sideswipe’s disgrace—no one to see him _fail_ in trying to remain the master of his own life, his own fate.

He wasn’t that anymore. Not when his opposition was _Megatron._

But he wasn’t ready to just give up, especially not with _everyone_ watching. The other mates, they were all rapt on them, quiet, but their hunger for Megatron’s attention reflected in their fields. A little more and they would’ve been downright jealous of the attention the brothers—Sideswipe—were getting. 

He’d gladly swap places with any of them, right now. 

Megatron’s thumb brushed across his lower lip, rough, then rougher yet on the second pass, but he didn’t repeat his question even as his grip began to tighten to an extent that was starting to threaten the integrity of his facial plates and all of the underlying structures. Sideswipe whined, but he wouldn’t say it, _not again–_

But then Megatron reached along the length of his far smaller frame, his claws brushing across his tightly closed valve cover, and then _grabbing_ his aft. He remembered still. Of course he still remembered how much Sideswipe _liked_ that. Pits, he was shaking so hard, and Megatron started to _toy_ with his frame, fondling his aft, petting his valve cover, dragging his claws along the seams, but not so hard it would’ve hurt.

Just aroused. He was turning his frame on until Sideswipe had to keep his hips from dancing, until he was biting his lip to fight back his moans. Sunstreaker was growling, furious, but Starscream kept him down, kept him from being able to do anything as Sideswipe grit his denta and tried to deny his frame–

But he met Megatron’s optics, and although it came as a gasp more than anything else… _“No.”_

“Oh?” Megatron asked, raising one of his optical ridges at him. Then his gaze rose, looking at something— _someone_ —behind him. “Were you sitting next to Twin Twist? Come here.”

At once Sideswipe could hear someone getting up and hurrying over until an all too eager field was lapping against his own. “Spike him,” Megatron said next, and the energon in Sideswipe’s lines froze for a moment before his fuel pump beat back into action.

“NO!” he said, _shouted,_ trying to pull, twist, yank himself free, but Megatron’s grip on his jaw was unrelenting.

The servos that landed on his aft this time, the digits that started to play with the edges of his valve cover, they didn’t belong to Megatron. His frame was already running hot from Megatron’s all too knowledgeable touch, and Twin Twist wasn’t any less experienced. Sideswipe’s tears ran more numerous, but no one paid any mind to all the ways he phrased how _he didn’t want this, didn’t agree to this, get the slag away from him–_

Twin Twist only touched him until his frame reached a limit and forced his valve cover open despite himself. That was all the invitation Twin Twist needed, burying his spike into his valve at once. At least he was fragging well lubricated by now, and… Twin Twist wasn’t rough, or careless, like Megatron was, like none of the mates had been in the last orgy. It was clear he moved to enjoy himself too, but the way he circled his hips and alternated his thrusts, all the little tricks Sideswipe didn’t even know a name for… It felt good. It felt way too damn good, even without his interface protocols under an accursed spell. And Twin Twist wasn’t too big, especially not after everything his valve had already been through. It didn’t hurt at all.

He was moaning soon enough, squeezing his optics shut and focusing on fighting his losing battle against his frame. It didn’t matter how much he didn’t want this and it didn’t matter how much he tried to deny it, it was _pleasure_ that started to course through him.

And when Megatron released his jaw, Sideswipe’s helm fell to the couch and he tried to silence his sounds into his arm.

With Sideswipe appropriately _punished_ for his refusal, forced into enjoying all of this all over again, Megatron turned his attention back to _Sunstreaker._ Sunstreaker growled, a hard, deep sound when the tyrant’s optics fell on him, still expertly pinned in place by Starscream. Growling and glaring was all he could do.

But with one gesture from Megatron, Starscream released him. Sunstreaker raised himself up immediately, only for Megatron to seize him by the throat and pull him close, considering him for a moment before his gaze dropped to Sunstreaker’s groin. Sunstreaker snarled harder at that, for all the good it would do for him. Was there anything he could have ever done to discourage Megatron? He couldn’t rightly think of anything.

Rip off his spike, maybe. If he even _could_ have with the damn thing apparently made from steel for all the damage it just shrugged off.

And that would have likely gotten him killed. Not the best of plans, no matter how satisfying it would’ve been in the last few moments of his life.

“Do you like your new gait?” Megatron asked him. Sunstreaker bared his denta, and tried to jerk free when Megatron’s other servo ran down his frame, to his _hips,_ and then lower, stroking his valve cover. “Should we _maintain_ it a little bit, hmm? It would be such a shame if you lost it.”

“Says you,” Sunstreaker growled past the constriction of his vocalizer. _“My_ frame, and _I_ don’t want it. Go die in the gutters, you fragging halfwit.”

 _“Your_ frame?” Megatron questioned, ignoring the insults. 

But the tyrant’s fake confusion melted away very quickly, replaced by what looked a hell of a lot like genuine, restrained _anger._ “Don’t forget who you _belong_ to, youngling,” he growled. And now Megatron’s grip tightened enough that he could say no more, only a burst of stating coming out when he tried. He wasn’t allowed to keep fighting, not even just verbally.

And then he was flipped about, onto his stomach across Megatron’s lap—with his aft presented to _Sideswipe,_ who looked up in alarm. “Prepare your brother for me.”

Sunstreaker’s engine roared and Sideswipe _shook_ his helm, even as he moaned from Twin Twist’s treatment, flirting with the edge of an overload. 

Megatron didn’t waste time on trying to get him to do as he was told. “Topspin,” he said instead, without looking up. Topspin stepped up at once, ready for orders that came in short order. “Show Sideswipe how it’s done.” Sunstreaker’s valve cover earned itself a meaningful tap. 

He tried to jerk away again, but Megatron gripped him tight and Topspin stepped over, angling Sunstreaker’s lower half until he had access to the junction of his thighs.

Then there were lips on his panel, and a glossa, these too knowing _exactly_ what they were doing as they started to administer _pleasure_ to his frame. Megatron kept Sunstreaker’s vocalizer quiet, but his frame revved hard, first from _anger–_

But then, when Topspin never once let up, the sound turned into reluctant arousal. He couldn’t stop his physical responses of his frame any more than Sideswipe could, and he wasn’t allowed to escape the mouth working insistently on his cover—until it snapped back with another burst of _static_ from Sunstreaker. 

A dexterous glossa slipped _inside_ his valve at once, seeking out all the sensors in its reach in its first thrust in, pull out, another push inside, brushing against sensitive areas as if it had invaded his valve before and knew all of his ins and outs already.

But that could probably just be attributed to his valve being _standard_ build. 

It didn’t work in his favor, that was for sure. Sunstreaker tried to jerk his hips away, time and time again, but not once did it work, and with Topspin _intent_ on his task, his vents were heaving hot air from his frame in far too short order. “That’ll do,” Megatron said at that point, and _finally_ Topspin pulled back, as did Twin Twist leave his brother, although knowing what would follow… Sunstreaker would have rather had _him_ than _Megatron._

But he’d been _prepared_ for Megatron. The tyrant pulled him by his throat until he was on his hands and knees on the couch. He was let go, but before he could even try to get away—as little as he expected the other mates would have _let_ him—Megatron had already positioned himself behind him, one knee on the couch, the other on the floor, and _rammed_ into his valve. Sunstreaker jerked from the pain that stabbed his internals, but snuffed the sounds that wanted to escape his vocalizer.

Megatron’s pace… Pits, he was getting some serious flashbacks to his very first interface with the tyrant. This wasn’t just Megatron taking his pleasure out of him. This was about making him _hurt,_ for his insolence no doubt. 

And Primus but it _hurt._ Megatron was again showing his strength with the amount of oomph he put behind _each_ and _every_ thrust, and he angled his hips in just the way to hit where Sunstreaker would feel it the most—Sideswipe said something, half scream, but then there was Starscream again, pushing his brother down and _keeping_ him there.

 _Do not interfere._ Not with _anything_ Megatron saw fit to do.

Sunstreaker first groaned at a particularly hard entry into his frame, and then, when Megatron _corrected_ his technique some–

He screamed. It wasn’t loud, and it was hoarse, but he couldn’t for the life of him keep quiet when Megatron hit _something,_ and Sunstreaker didn’t know his own damn frame well enough to say what it was without reading the damage reports, but something _buckled_ deep in him, then _gave_ away entirely under the continued assault of Megatron’s goddamned spike.

He could feel wetness leak into his internals, meeting his armor and then seeping past the gaps—probably one of his tanks was what had gotten damaged, then. 

How, _how_ Megatron could break something like a tank with nothing but his _spike…_ He didn’t understand. Spikes weren’t supposed to be able to break a damn thing.

But whatever modifications Megatron’s had, it spelled pain for Sunstreaker, right then and there. He didn’t look what color fluids were bleeding out of him, too busy gritting his denta, too busy pressing his face into his arm, shuttering his optics until there was nothing but black behind his HUD. Warnings were flashing at him and he let them blink away in the dark, trying to focus on the repetition of _that_ rather than the repetition of Megatron’s spike hammering into his frame until he wasn’t sure his armor wouldn’t cave from inside out.

Pain.

Sideswipe was crying, begging for it to stop, curling in on himself from the phantom sensations he was suffering, too stubborn to pull away, too stubborn to not _share–_

But no matter what he said, Megatron paid him no heed, let nothing and no one distract him before Sunstreaker had fallen silent again—agony in his frame, in his valve, his midsection, until he couldn’t even make sense of the signals anymore, until he had no hope of keeping up with them. They drowned out everything else, even his vocoder.

Once he reached _that_ point, then Megatron decided it was _sufficient._ The tyrant growled above and behind him, his transfluid pouring into his valve—and then past it. Last time he hadn’t been certain if it was real or imagined.

This time he didn’t imagine it. 

His frame shook as Megatron finally pulled out and stood up. “The both of you will come to my wing tonight,” he said, and even to Sunstreaker’s hazy processors there was little doubt he was talking about him and Sideswipe. “Have Knock Out fix that first.”

And with those parting words, he walked out.

Sunstreaker couldn’t will his frame to move, not with the pain radiating from his core into every part of his frame. Sideswipe, unhurt as he was, scrambled to his side as soon as Starscream let him, his servos hovering over golden plating. Tears streamed down his face, but he didn’t know how to touch, where to touch without hurting him more. “Sunny…” he said so quietly, but it reached his audials all the same. 

He could feel the question in them. _Was it worth it?_ Was defiance worth it when it’d only leave them bloodied and broken, one way or another? Were those little moments of satisfaction worth _this?_

Sunstreaker forced his optics open when someone approached, and glanced up at Skywarp. The Seeker had a sorrowful look about his face, for once. Did even _he_ acknowledge this much was messed up?

But he laid the blame at _their_ pedes, not Megatron’s. “You really shouldn’t test him like that,” Skywarp murmured, and that… That was probably the overarching sentiment of all the mates, wasn’t it? That they had _asked_ for this.

 _Their_ fault for pushing Megatron to a violent limit of his. 

“Let’s get you to Knock Out.” Twin Twist. Sideswipe snarled at him, but it was without any real strength. Yeah, he’d just gotten raped by the mech, but what else was new? They’d all forced themselves on them at one point or other. 

Sideswipe had gotten pleasure, unwanted. Sunstreaker had earned himself pain. Which was better? Which was worse?

Before, he would have said he preferred _pain,_ no questions asked. 

He wasn’t as sure anymore. 

It was Twin Twist and Topspin that gently laid their servos on his frame, pulling him up and supporting him when the utter _agony_ of his internals stole all steadiness from his legs. His helm hung, his vents heaved—but no longer from heat or arousal.

It just hurt, like getting stabbed several times over, aggravated by every move he made… But it wouldn’t get better anytime soon, not without Knock Out.

So he ground his denta together and tried to bear it, tried to ignore it enough to at least move his _legs_ —even so, the other set of twins had to nearly carry him between them. Sideswipe followed on their heels, wanting so bad to help, but without the ways or the means to do so.

It was an excruciatingly long walk down the hallway to the medbay, but they made it, eventually. Topspin and his brother helped him onto one of the berths before Sideswipe took their place by his side, clutching onto his servo, his arm.

Sunstreaker squeezed his servo back, trying to calm their turbulent spark. Yeah, that had been bad, and yeah, he hurt now, but it was nothing that couldn’t be fixed.

He’d be fine.

Sideswipe found it hard to believe.

Knock Out walked over from wherever he had been—his quarters, maybe?—took one look at him, and shook his helm. “Now what did you do to earn that? Don’t answer, I don’t want to know. Especially not the details.”

He said all of that so casually, like this was no big deal, like this happened too often for him to give a frag anymore. If he ever had given a frag to begin with. Sideswipe growled again, but Knock Out fluently ignored him and merely scanned Sunstreaker. He sighed at whatever he found—annoyed, more than anything.

Not bothered.

Not feeling sorry for them.

Not thinking this was _wrong._

Just Knock Out being Knock Out, the harem’s detached medic and bodywork miracle.

“I’ll put you to stasis for the repairs. This shouldn’t take too long. Are you..?” Knock Out trailed off, looking up at Sideswipe.

“I’m staying,” Sideswipe said firmly.

Knock Out shrugged. “Just stay out of my way and keep quiet. Now then!” Sunstreaker turned his helm to the side on the medic’s approach, let him plug in, and watched as Knock Out initiated medical stasis.

His frame slumped, fleeing consciousness leaving all systems lax and only the vital ones online. Sideswipe gave his brother’s arm one more squeeze before he stepped back to huddle against the wall. Out of the way, like Knock Out had told him. 

And quiet, hard as that was.

Sunstreaker had been just like this, in stasis, helpless, out of it, when Megatron had used his frame only for him to come back online to the signs of what had been done to him.

Sideswipe couldn’t disagree that that was… _Beyond_ messed up. What kind of a mech fragged a _corpse?_

The same kind of mech that would interface you to _pieces_ if you showed disrespect.

He wasn’t even crying at this point, as much as old tear tracks had dried on his face. Megatron wanted them in his wing. Tonight. And he was bound to be displeased after what had happened, here. 

He was too sore to hurt any more. Not… Not physically. His frame could still be made to suffer in ways he hadn’t even known about, he was sure about that much.

But he wasn’t so sure his spark could contain any more _pain_ than it already did. He wasn’t sure his mind was ready to process anything more.

He felt about ready to stop feeling.

* * *

Unfortunately, he became less certain of his emotional immunity when they were led to Megatron’s wing that night. Fear was rising, quickly.

Knock Out had fixed Sunstreaker like he had fixed them every time before. Sunstreaker wasn’t in pain, anymore, aside from the little sting of fresh welds. Nothing he couldn’t handle.

But would it remain that way, or did Megatron have something _painful_ in mind for them now? They had _displeased_ him. In his twisted mind that probably earned them all sorts of awfulness, that Sideswipe wasn’t looking forward to one bit.

The doors to the wing closed behind them, and trapped they were. Sunstreaker was gripping his servo, trying to calm him, to build strength in him—but he wasn’t sure that, for once, Sunstreaker wasn’t equally trying to gather strength from him instead of just giving it to him. Things had… Never been this bad before. They’d gotten hurt before, pretty badly, and they’d struggled to get themselves the necessary repairs, but never before had anyone tried to _systematically_ break them, inside and out. 

That was what Megatron was doing now though, a-and… They’d acted out, and _felt_ it, especially Sunstreaker, which could only be the beginning to the plans Megatron had for them.

But there was no running, not from this, so, together, they walked down the long hall, past all of the closed doors, and to the lounge where Megatron was already sitting, reading something. He glanced up on their arrival, and _frowned._ “Berthroom, you two.” His tone… Megatron was done playing around, wasn’t he?

Sideswipe swallowed hard, but after a glance at Sunstreaker that his brother returned, they slowly crept past the furniture of the lounge and to the doors of Megatron’s berthroom, and through them, and– Pits, what would happen now?

They could hear Megatron getting up behind them, walking after them until he was forcing them further into the room with the threat of _touching_ them to nudge them in the right direction. They wanted as little of his touch as possible, as much as they expected there would be a _lot_ of that tonight.

“Get on the berth,” came the next command, and ever hesitantly they did just that, hoisting themselves up and scooting somewhere off to the center. Megatron followed them, his optics _severe._ Not amused, not smug.

Just intent on making them do as they were told and exactly as they were told. The means he’d use to that end… He didn’t want to know, but he was sure they’d find out anyway.

“Make out,” Megatron said next. Sideswipe started, Sunstreaker growled—and they _didn’t do it._

Megatron raised an optical ridge at them, unimpressed. “Don’t tell me you don’t know how. You’re _brothers.”_ They were, and yeah, they knew how, they enjoyed it… But not in these circumstances.

Even Sunstreaker didn’t dare _say_ anything, but they didn’t act on the order either.

And Megatron proved he just wasn’t going to wait for them, not anymore. He reached over, and before they could jerk out of the way, his servo had found Sideswipe’s valve cover, claws dug into the seams, and torn the entire panel off. Sideswipe was too unprepared, too surprised to even make a sound even as his sensors alerted him to the pain, just keeled forward into Sunstreaker’s arms.

Then three of the tyrant’s thick digits _stabbed_ into his bared valve without any warning, any preparation. Now Sideswipe gasped when the sharp tips raked against his valve mesh, making his hips jerk in an attempt to get away—but that only dug Megatron’s claws deeper, and he had to stop, had to still himself lest he damage his equipment further. 

Megatron began to move his servo, and this wasn’t about _arousing_ him, no. He dragged his claws across sensitive sensors in a way that didn’t do anything more than _hurt_ with sharp pains, and Sideswipe clutched onto Sunstreaker’s arms, closing his optics tight.

“Make out,” Megatron repeated, and now his digits slowed, the suggestion clear as day: _do as they were told and it didn’t have to hurt._

Sideswipe glanced up at Sunstreaker, his brother staring back at him with a pained expression, but what could they do?

_What could they do?_

Sideswipe reached up now, and pressed his lips against Sunstreaker’s. They were unresponsive, but just for a second before Sunstreaker returned the kiss, almost desperately—wrapping his arm around Sideswipe to keep him close, to give and seek comfort from each other.

Because that was all they had now, wasn’t it? Each other.

Megatron’s digits abandoned his valve, blessedly, horribly— _rewarded_ for something he didn’t want to do in the first place. He didn’t want to give in, but by the pits… What options did they have?

At least the press of Sunstreaker’s lips was familiar, when their glossae entwined, it was familiar, and the taste… It was his brother, there was no question about that. This was theirs, their… Their attempt to enjoy even something about this.

Megatron moved next to them instead of being mostly behind Sideswipe. A click had the both of them glancing at the tyrant, all to see his spike cover retract and his spike pressurizing already, readily. “Use your servo to pleasure me. Don’t stop kissing,” came the orders, tersely.

What was this? Putting on a show for Megatron’s benefit, while simultaneously pleasuring him?

When they didn’t move fast enough, Megatron reached for Sunstreaker’s valve cover and ripped that clean off too. His brother jerked from the pain, but didn’t voice it any more than Sideswipe had—but before Megatron had the time to do more than that, Sunstreaker had pulled him back against him, landing a kiss on his cheek before Sideswipe had the sense to turn his helm to face him.

And it was Sunstreaker’s servo that reached for Megatron’s spike and began to pump his servo along it.

Sunstreaker was shaking, but Sideswipe could feel his determination to keep Sideswipe safe. If that meant indignity, if it meant pleasuring their rapist… So be it.

As long as Sideswipe remained safe.

It was a sentiment that had the red twin crying in no time. Look at what they had been reduced to. Doing something that they’d always loved, but now involuntarily, left without choice, while pleasing the damn mech that had torn them from their humble but happy enough life, only to bring them here to endure things they hadn’t imagined even in their worst _nightmares._

They weren’t ready for this, nothing in their life had prepared them for this—nothing could have prepared them for this. The cruelty, the immorality were on another level entirely.

It was too much, and yet they couldn’t but _bear_ it. 

Sunstreaker’s servo jerked Megatron to completion, the tyrant’s transfluid splattering onto his brother’s arm, on Megatron’s plating. “Lick that off, Sunstreaker,” he said, and the brothers parted ways to both stare at Megatron. Sunstreaker was shivering, Sideswipe’s armor was rattling—and they didn’t move fast enough, Megatron again jabbing his claws into Sideswipe’s valve.

This time he cried out.

That was enough to prompt Sunstreaker into action and he lowered himself onto the berth, in a position of true _subservience_ neither of them could have ever wanted, and did as he was told. He cleaned, with his _glossa,_ all of the transfluid that had landed on the tyrant’s plating, and all of what had remained on the tip of his spike and run down the length. Megatron’s digits left Sideswipe’s valve and he was rumbling, approving—and approving meant not physical pain. 

Only pain of a spark forced into something it never wanted to do, never wanted to _be._ But they were stuck. They were so, so stuck in all of this, their way out still unclear. They would find it eventually, he just… He hoped it would be _soon enough._

Megatron tapped Sunstreaker’s chin once he was satisfied with his brother’s work, and Sunstreaker _eagerly_ pulled away.

Then it was Sideswipe who got the next set of instructions. “Lay on your back and spread your legs.”

He didn’t like where this was going, but under the gazes of both Megatron and Sunstreaker he nevertheless leaned back until he was laying down entirely, and let his legs fall apart, putting his coverless valve in _perfect_ display. 

If only Megatron had chosen to spike him then. That would have been familiar, that he could’ve… He could’ve handled that. 

But instead Megatron’s optics moved to _Sunstreaker._ “Fist him.”

“What?!” they asked in unison, and Sideswipe shot back into a sitting position.

“You can’t be serious,” Sunstreaker continued, their disbelief quickly giving way to dry horror. They didn’t want to ‘face each other to begin with, not in _any_ way, and… Frag, not in that way either. And Sideswipe didn’t particularly fancy finding out what getting fisted felt like in the first place. He hadn’t even entertained the thought before, no matter how much he had enjoyed interfacing.

But here they were.

“Oh, I’m very serious,” Megatron responded to Sunstreaker, and his voice left little doubt of that. But… Slaggit, better _Sunstreaker_ than _Megatron._ Megatron’s servos were as large as the rest of him. That would’ve… He wasn’t sure his frame could’ve taken that in any shape or form.

But Sunstreaker… Sideswipe met his gaze. Sunstreaker’s face twisted with emotion as he tried to think of some way to avoid this, some way to spare them both this… He came out empty. 

“Now,” Megatron said, without inflection, but there was threat in that one word all the same. What would he do if they didn’t? How would he hurt them? “On your back, Sideswipe.”

He fell back even more reluctantly than before, but Sunstreaker couldn’t will himself into motion.

Couldn’t, before Megatron gave him some more _incentive._ “Do it, or _I_ will.”

He could probably survive Megatron’s servo if it came down to it. He didn’t think he’d die, but the amount of _damage_ it would have caused… 

The amount of _pain._

It didn’t need to come down to it. Sunstreaker grit his denta, but moved between his spread legs and grudgingly, unwillingly, brought his servo to Sideswipe’s valve.

The sooner they were done with this, the sooner… They could move to whatever else Megatron had planned for them. And the sooner they got to all that, the sooner they would get out of here.

Even so, Sunstreaker wasn’t about to hurt Sideswipe if it could be avoided. He pushed two of his digits into Sideswipe’s valve at first, adding a third when he found it _looser_ than he’d expected—but after, he sought out sensors, and not to scratch them, but to stimulate them, in the good kind of way. Pleasant way.

As much as Sideswipe didn’t want this, he wasn’t opposed to the slow start, the little act to make some lubricant gather in his valve. And, surprisingly, Megatron gave them the time to do that, watching, stroking his spike languidly, but not rushing them. 

Sideswipe tried to relax, let his legs fall apart a bit further, tried to force away some of the tension in his frame, because that would only translate into tension in his calipers, and if… If he was supposed to take Sunstreaker’s whole damn fist, it would be best if he was relaxed. He hoped that would lead to the least possible amount of pain—and damage, if his calipers tried to stay in the way stubbornly.

Sunstreaker didn’t want to hurt him, but this might hurt anyway, no matter what they did. Best they could was try to reduce the chances of that. 

To that end, Sunstreaker played with his valve until there was a decent amount of lubricant in place. Then his brother cycled one deep ventilation and added a fourth digit to very little resistance from Sideswipe’s calipers.

And that was maybe the worst part, how… _Easy_ it turned out to be. It shouldn’t have been. Taking a whole damn servo up his valve was meant to be a struggle.

But with how large Megatron’s _spike_ alone was, and how many times he’d gotten hammered by it already, Sunstreaker could easily slip four of his digits into his valve, and when pulled out, pushed in, pulled back, tucked his thumb against his other digits and pushed again… There was some resistance as the widest part cleared his rim, but it was still too easy. It stung, but it wasn’t outright pain. There was enough lubricant to ease the passage.

And his valve had just gotten forced too far out of shape by Megatron. Sunstreaker slipped his entire servo in, up to his wrist, and felt Sideswipe’s valve flutter and clench against the intrusion, unused to the strange shape.

Tears fell from Sideswipe’s optics and he stared resolutely at the ceiling. He didn’t need and didn’t want any of the reminders of how they were being reforged to their new role in life.

“Overload him,” Megatron said once they’d gotten to that stage. He didn’t need to specify that Sunstreaker was to overload him with his servo, like this, because that really was obvious enough.

It shouldn’t even be too difficult. It didn’t hurt, so… What else was there to feel but pleasure? Sunstreaker was slow and careful, mindful when he began to move his servo in and out, and with every pass it became easier and the resistance of his rim lesser. He made sure to brush against sensors, and it felt good. Strange, because it wasn’t a spike and didn’t have the shape of one, but pits, it wasn’t _bad._

He didn’t want that. Primus, but he wished he would have hated it because it was _Megatron_ that had ordered this. He wanted to hate everything even remotely related to the mech.

But instead his hips started to push into the thrusts of Sunstreaker’s servo and he had to bite back his moans. Sunstreaker didn’t slow down either, once it was sure he wasn’t hurting him, even by accident. The sooner they were done with this…

The better. And he was quickly, very quickly, driven towards an overload with Sunstreaker’s intent but gentle touch. He didn’t try to fight it. As much as he didn’t want the pleasure, he wanted this just _over_ with.

It wasn’t his best overload ever, but it was far from being the worst, either. Sideswipe stiffened as he was pushed over that edge with one more entry of his twin’s servo, his valve clamping down until Sunstreaker had little hope of pulling back. Sideswipe moaned despite his attempt to keep silent–

Then there was a surprised gasp, from Sunstreaker.

Megatron had shoved his entire length up his brother’s empty valve without warning and _that,_ that hurt. There was no lubricant to speak of, he hadn’t been prepared for it in any way…

But they still felt the sorrow over the fact it didn’t hurt as much as it once had.

Sunstreaker removed his servo once Sideswipe’s valve relaxed enough, and Megatron chose that moment to start moving in and out of his frame at a leisurely pace. “Sideswipe,” he said, and the twin tore his optics from the ceiling to glance down at him. “Get under your brother. On your back, helm to me.”

 _Now what?_ But Sideswipe moved regardless, turning around and sliding under Sunstreaker. Sunstreaker made the room for him, ending up straddling his shoulders, his servos propping him up on either side of Sideswipe’s hips.

They didn’t have to wonder what this was about for long. Megatron continued to rock into Sunstreaker, not so hard it would’ve been unbearable— _nothing like he had earlier in the day_ —but it was far from comfortable either, no matter the lubricant that was _slowly_ starting to gather in Sunstreaker’s valve–

Then, “Lick my spike, Sideswipe.”

...He was in the perfect position to do that, with Megatron’s spike disappearing into Sunstreaker’s valve right above his face.

He didn’t really want to, though. Pits, but he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to pleasure Megatron, and he didn’t want to be this close to Sunstreaker’s equipment either.

And he sure as pit didn’t want a front row seat to Megatron fragging Sunstreaker.

He hesitated for too long. “Lick mine or your brother will suck yours.”

Sunstreaker flinched at the thought, and at a thrust that jabbed into one of the recent welds of his. Megatron knew as well as they did how despicable the thought of doing that was to Sunstreaker, and… Sideswipe couldn’t put him through it.

_Not again._

Sunstreaker did his best to keep him safe. He could return the favor. Sideswipe lifted his helm enough that his nasal ridge nearly brushed against Megatron’s groin and extended his glossa, letting it rub against the underside of Megatron’s spike on every pull out, every push back in. When Megatron’s engine rumbled a displeased note, he applied more pressure, moved his glossa a little more, put in a bit more effort just so _nothing would happen to Sunstreaker_ —and that earned him a rev from the tyrant.

Good enough, it said. 

He kept it up even as Megatron’s pace increased as he neared an overload, and… When he overloaded, he pulled out entirely, his come splashing on the outside of Sunstreaker’s valve and dripping onto Sideswipe’s face.

He hoped it was over at that, but it wasn’t. “Open your mouth,” Megatron said, and there wasn’t much question about who he was talking to.

And not too much question over why the order was given, either.

He didn’t want it, so Sideswipe shook his helm in denial. His quiet _no,_ never spoken out loud.

It went completely ignored. Megatron shoved Sunstreaker off of him, his brother landing onto his side on the berth beside him, and then one of the tyrant’s servos came down, _yanking_ his jaw open. Before Sideswipe could do more than squeak in surprise, Megatron had already aimed and _thrust_ his spike into his mouth, down his throat.

Sideswipe’s wail was muffled even before the intrusion constricted his vocalizer into silence. It hurt. His valve might’ve gotten a little more used to things; his mouth, not so much. And Megatron didn’t go easy, he didn’t take his time, didn’t wait for him to adjust in any way before he was moving in and out of this throat _too fast._

Sunstreaker moved to do… Something, _anything,_ but Megatron merely _backhanded_ him hard enough that his brother collapsed back onto the berth. Tears streamed from Sideswipe’s optics, not just over the treatment his frame was suffering, but also over the treatment Sunstreaker received, and the… _Helplessness._ There hadn’t been and there _still wasn’t_ anything they had done that would have worked against Megatron. Megatron only got his way, every time. He got his pleasure as it suited him, he made them hurt just as he wanted to.

And they were powerless in the face of it all.

 _Bear it._ Sideswipe tried, even as his frame arched off the berth, fighting with himself to not let every entry down his throat _get to him..._ And he only succeeded because Megatron chased his completion fast, and reached it quickly. Before Sideswipe lost the battle with himself.

Before he would have expelled everything in his tanks like he already had too many times before in the past orns. Instead there was a spurt of transfluid that headed for his tanks instead of out of them, although Megatron pulled out before he’d finished coming, and most of the transfluid his spike was pumping out landed on Sideswipe’s face to join what there already was.

But… Nothing more came after that. Megatron left them laying there, used and abused while he moved to the edge of the berth and wiped himself clean in swift motions. “Return to the harem,” he instructed them, and then… Left, without a backwards glance, and despite the late hour.

Then they were alone, in Megatron’s berthroom, except this time they were _together._

Sideswipe rolled onto his front, got on his knees, reached for Sunstreaker. His brother was dazed, dented, and he wasn’t sure about the continued integrity of some of his welds, but he was mostly fine. Physically, anyway.

In every other way… Sideswipe tried not to think about it. Not before they got the pit out of here, anyway. “Come on,” he said quietly, tugging and pulling until he had Sunstreaker to the edge of the berth and they both dropped down to the floor, then out the berthroom, through the lounge, into the hallway, and to the doors that opened to them for once. Skywarp was waiting on the other side, waving at them in greeting.

“Hope that went well. Do you need to see Knock Out?” he asked, giving each of them a once over, his gaze lingering on the side of Sunstreaker’s helm.

“Would probably be best to, just to be safe,” Sideswipe answered quietly, glancing at Sunstreaker. There probably wasn’t anything too dangerous going on, but it’d be nice to have a confirmation of that.

Skywarp nodded at that before he turned to lead the way back to the harem wing, the twins trailing behind him

“This is _progress,”_ Knock Out noted on their injuries once he’d had a look at them. “So minor! My, if only you gave me this little to work on more often.” Sunstreaker growled at the suggestion behind the words, and Sideswipe couldn’t say he appreciated them a hell of a lot either. _Do as they were told, please Megatron,_ and they wouldn’t get slagged every damn time. 

“Wouldn’t you be out of a job if we did?” Sideswipe asked just a little sharply. Hadn’t Knock Out said that earlier?

...How much earlier was it? Pits, it was hard to keep track of time. It felt like an eternity with so much happening, but it couldn’t have been that long.

“True, that,” the medic conceded.

They were sent on their way once everything was back in order and they’d had a cursory cleaning. It was late, so the berthroom became their destination and they crept past the cots, many of them already occupied by recharging mecha. Some of the mates were still awake, and they got a few waves of greeting that Sideswipe returned before they made it to the very back of the room.

In mutual understanding they laid down on their joined cots, Sunstreaker onto his back, and Sideswipe stretching up along his side, pressing the side of his helm to Sunstreaker’s shoulder and letting the sounds and vibrations of his brother’s frame surround him. 

That had been one of their most pathetic showings with Megatron. They’d barely even resisted, but… Primus, it was getting hard to keep up the will to fight, knowing it was _futile,_ that Megatron was _inevitable_ in everything he did… And knowing they’d get hurt, one way or another, every time they didn’t do as they were told. Not always physically, but the emotional hurt could be just as potent, if not more so.

And Megatron had apparently never even heard the word “mercy”. He had none to give in any damn situation. 

But if they did as they were told… It wasn’t _tolerable,_ it would never be fucking _tolerable,_ but it wasn’t _as bad._ Was that the best they could hope for in this situation? _Not as bad?_

It felt like that. 

They were going to get out eventually, it was just a matter of _time_ until they found the way, but until then… Would it be worth it to not earn themselves as much pain? Go a little easier on themselves?

Even if it meant… Even if it meant pleasing Megatron.

But it was only temporary. _This_ was only temporary. They’d have the last laugh still, when they walked out of here, ran away. Back to the freedom they _deserved._ The other mates, they might’ve been so _brainwashed_ they were fine with this, but him and Sunstreaker would never be. He didn’t understand how the others had ever gotten used to all of this, how they’d grown so desensitized to it, but it was easy to count on himself to never gain that understanding.

This was just… Too fragging awful to ever get used to.

Not forever. They wouldn’t be here forever.

They just had to stay strong and rely on each other until they found their way out of this fucking hellhole.

 _Easy,_ right?

They could do it.

* * *

There were a few quiet days again, time to rest and recuperate and… Try to put everything behind them for a while, even if they knew it would come back to haunt them still, somewhere in the not too distant future. 

Three days later, it did.

They were in the entertainment room again, Sunstreaker drawing and letting the curious gawk his work over his shoulders, Sideswipe playing some manner of shooter game with Runamuck and Runabout.

They really loved their shooter games. Sideswipe’s argument was that you couldn’t beat virtual violence. It was a good way to work out their frustrations too, in a very bloody manner.

Those games were too damn realistic for anyone’s good; the next thing he knew his brother would be a trained soldier. Great entertainment, though.

The peace of it was broken when there was the faint sound of the main doors opening and closing coming down the hall, followed by unmistakable pedesteps. Starscream left the entertainment room to greet their _mate_ even as the twins’ fuel pumps froze.

They hoped, ardently, that Megatron was here for someone else, that he just wanted to disappear into the room at the very end of the hallway with someone that wasn’t _them._ The chances would’ve been good for something like that, right?

But they weren’t so lucky. Megatron walked to the entertainment room’s door, had a look around, confirmed they were both present, and called them both by _name._

Just so there was no question or misunderstanding of who he wanted.

Like last time, Megatron sat down on one of the couches where _everyone_ could see him.

Then came the order. “Come here.”

Sideswipe swallowed hard, clutched onto Sunstreaker through their spark, but… Disconnected from the game he had busied himself with and slowly walked over to the tyrant. Sunstreaker set down his drawing tablet, cycled several steadying ventilations, and followed Sideswipe—holding just as tight onto him as he was being held onto, even if not _physically._

Moment of truth, wasn’t it? They had displeased Megatron last time. What about this time?

Starscream was standing in the doorway, wings spread, arms crossed, watching it all sharply. The other mates didn’t have the same _scrutiny_ about them, but they were all watching, all as eager for Megatron’s attention as ever, and… Curious. Over how this would go, most likely. Last time hadn’t been so great, not to be on the receiving end of, and probably not so fun to witness either.

It was in their hands how this time would go. What would Megatron ask of them?

They came to stand in front of him, Sunstreaker meeting his burning gaze, Sideswipe staring at his pedes. Their spark was spinning wildly no matter how Sunstreaker tried to calm it, but he couldn’t exactly deny his own distaste and nervousness of the situation. How bad would Megatron make this?

“Sideswipe,” Megatron said, patting the space next to him. Sideswipe hesitated for a few precious seconds, but the moment Megatron’s optics began to narrow, he hurried over and sat on the couch next to the tyrant, stiff as they came. 

Next, “Coax it out.”

Sideswipe started crying on the spot. Not out loud, he made no sound, but tears began to run down his cheeks. “How?” he asked for clarity’s sake despite that, even with the risk of Megatron taking it as too much _dallying._

He didn’t. “As you see fit,” was the answer he gave. Sideswipe nodded silently and reached over Megatron’s thigh to press his servo to his codpiece. More tolerable than using his _mouth,_ and easier with the angle he was in, unless he wanted to get between Megatron’s thighs. But that wasn’t where he’d been told to go, and he wondered why–

–Up until Megatron addressed Sunstreaker. “Prepare your brother for me. Take Topspin’s cue.”

Using his mouth, in other words. And then… Sideswipe would get to take Megatron’s spike.

Their spark fluttered with utter desperation, but there was no way out of this, was there? They could refuse, like they had last time, and then Megatron would hurt them all over again… Likely find even worse ways to do so, either in public, or in private.

Or they could just do this, _get it over with,_ and not suffer through any of that.

Indignity and crushed pride, or defiance at the price of pain and suffering. 

Sunstreaker’s next exvent shuddered, but under the optics of what felt like absolutely _everyone,_ he got on the couch behind his brother. Sideswipe was _shaking,_ as much as he didn’t forget to stroke Megatron’s spike cover just to keep him satisfied… But he lifted his hips for Sunstreaker and retracted his valve cover.

It was just Sunstreaker. No one else.

They could do this. It was better than the alternatives.

Sunstreaker knelt there, between Sideswipe’s legs, and brought his mouth to Sideswipe’s valve. He hadn’t done _this_ often—had he _ever?_ —but he relied on Sideswipe’s memories and his sensation to guide him as he slipped his glossa into the opening that felt like it was perpetually gaping now, and hunted for sensors the same way Topspin had. He didn’t have the experience, but feeling what Sideswipe felt… He found his way, and slowly but steadily lubricant began to gather in his brother’s valve.

He would be as prepared for Megatron as Sunstreaker could make him, if that would just ease the _second part_ of this even some. 

But it wasn’t just him. Sideswipe was shuddering, but he couldn’t allow himself to be distracted from his task of getting Megatron’s spike out. He’d gotten the cover to open for him with enough teasing of its seams. Part of the tip had revealed itself too, by now, and he worked it in his servo diligently, in all the ways that had… Pleased his _past_ partners.

The partners he’d had in the life he _would_ still get back to, one way or another.

This was just another step on the road to that end. He worked the spike until it had reached halfway out of its housing, at which point Megatron told him to get his mouth in there. That was… Actually sort of doable now with enough of the spike out in the open, even though he had to lean over Megatron’s thigh to do so.

But he did, even as his hips began to move on their own, hitching back against Sunstreaker’s glossa, his mouth—as Sideswipe took the tip of Megatron’s spike into his own, as he licked along the length of it, still worked his servo around it…

Until it reached full pressurization. “Enough. Get on your back,” Megatron said at that point, and Sideswipe pulled away to _force_ himself to lay down on the couch, even knowing what was coming.

He was crying, he was terrified. Did he have any good reason to be? But Megatron was… He was evil, just plain evil. What he could do if he thought he was given a reason…

He’d have bad memory purges of that for the rest of his _life._ Wasn’t it reasonable enough to fear him?

But he laid down and let his legs be spread when Megatron’s servos landed on his thighs. One of the tyrant’s pedes went to the floor again, like he’d done with Sunstreaker, and would he do it again? Destroy his internals because he _could,_ despite them doing as he wanted?

He didn’t. Megatron’s spike pushed into his valve, surprisingly slowly. There was some stretch, his calipers forced apart by the massive length, but there was also plenty of lubricant.

It could’ve been… A _lot_ worse.

Even when Megatron started to move, his pace wasn’t hurried in the slightest, and it didn’t start hurting—wouldn’t stop feeling _good._

Was that better than pain, though?

“Sunstreaker.” The golden twin looked up from his trance of watching Megatron’s spike disappear into Sideswipe’s frame time and time again. “Straddle his chest.”

He did, carefully climbing on top of Sideswipe.

What then? “Get his spike out and pressurized.”

Sunstreaker looked down at the closed cover, but Sideswipe opened that one for him too. His spike pressurized partially on its own, because it wasn’t as if his frame wasn’t responding to Megatron’s use of his valve—that had, once upon a time, not too long ago, inherently hurt because of their sheer difference in size.

Not so anymore.

...Not so anymore.

Sunstreaker wrapped his servo around the emerging spike and tried very hard not to think about how much he didn’t want to be touching Sideswipe’s equipment. Instead… Focus on the task at hand. Stroke, brush his thumb over the tip, make Sideswipe feel good no matter how neither of them wanted to be in this situation.

He wasn’t left alone to it for long before one of Megatron’s servos came up, a digit hooking under his chin and tilting his helm up. He knew what was coming even before Megatron’s lips descended on his, glossa pushing into his mouth—taking his enjoyment from it just as he was taking it from Sideswipe’s frame. 

Sunstreaker’s touch faltered on his brother. Megatron noticed; there was a growl of warning that had him focusing back on what he was doing, and… Not on what was being done _to_ him. 

Megatron picked up his pace until Sideswipe was groaning despite his attempts to stay quiet, but pleasure was building in his frame under the use of his valve and the touch on his spike. He was moving restlessly under Sunstreaker, hips tilting into Megatron’s thrusts and jerking up into Sunstreaker’s servo, up until he bucked with a strangled sound and _came,_ spike and valve both. His transfluid landed on Sunstreaker’s servo, some of it onto his chassis, and there was no doubt in Sunstreaker’s mind that Megatron _let_ himself be pulled into an overload by the clenching of Sideswipe’s valve, instead of being pushed into it _involuntarily._

He painted the inside of Sideswipe’s valve with his own transfluid and bit down on Sunstreaker’s lip, but then… Then there was nothing but a possessive parting peck on Sunstreaker’s mouth before the tyrant pulled away, pulled out, stood up.

Tucked his spike behind its panel and _left._

Sideswipe started sobbing the moment he was out of sight, a mess of transfluid and lubricant slowly leaking from his valve and his spike quickly depressurizing back into its housing. There were revving engines all around them, their brethren turned on by the show they’d received—and humiliation burned. Maybe it shouldn’t have. Hadn’t they already interfaced with this lot? Hadn’t all of them already seen them losing control of their own damn frames during the orgies?

But this was different. This wasn’t a signal turning them aroused beyond belief, and this wasn’t them forced into something.

This was them voluntarily giving Megatron what he wanted, voluntarily doing as they were told.

This was them giving up their fight in the sight of everyone else. It wasn’t them _losing_ the fight in Megatron’s wing, out of sight.

It was them surrendering in public.

Sunstreaker glanced up when a shadow fell over them. Starscream met his gaze. “Welcome to the _harem.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coercion  
> Rape (valve, mouth, spike)  
> Public (noncon) interfacing  
> Sex related injury  
> Referenced orgy  
> Fisting (noncon)  
> Mutual noncon  
> Noncon kissing


End file.
